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Jason Rimbaud

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Blog Entries posted by Jason Rimbaud

  1. Jason Rimbaud
    If there's anything I hate today, I would have to say girls, text messaging, and close-minded bigots that hold on to the Bible like a drowning man holds on to a life preserver in a storm-swept ocean.
    How the fuck does that affect what happened between Mark and I last week, my reader might ask?
    It's good that you ask, because I'm about to explain it to you in my usual round-about meandering way.
    So last we peeked into my life, I was having trouble with a certain nerdy gay boy that wished to seduce me in the worst kind of way. We also found out that Mark and I had decided to keep our relationship on the down-low for a few different reasons.
    Since that time, so many things has transpired I've been playing catch-up all week just to comprehend the life changing events of a single incident.
    I've always found it simply amazing how one tiny event can snowball into a gigantic cluster-fuck of situations, sweeping up all those connected into swirling mess of shit.
    It's not fair, not to me, not to Mark, and not to you, my faithful reader.
    Since I don't have a lot of time to explain, I must go to work in an hour, and my usual taking three or four hour's to construct entries just won't work today. So I'll move fast.
    Remember that little party Mark and I attended a few weeks ago, the one where he decided to kiss me in front of a few people?
    You do, that's good, this will make things all the more easier. (For those of you that have no clue what I'm referring too, just go back a few entries and you'll have the chance to catch up. It's Okay, I'll wait.)
    After that party, our relationship solidified and we existed, more or less, in a state of bliss, domestic, sexual, and any other kind of bliss you might imagine.
    It seems, one of the attendee's of that party, is a casual acquaintance of Mark's ex-girlfriend, you remember her don't you, the cum-dumster, blow-up doll, arm-candy chick? Well, this casual acquaintance wanted to improve his status by becoming a bit closer than just casual acquaintance, so he told her about the events that night, I'm sure with no other motive than trying to get into her pants.
    Needless to say, she did not take that news well. Matter of fact, she took it as a personal affront to her femininity and decided to call Mark's mother and spill the news that her only son was a faggot. And since she knew what Mark's mother thought of me, she probably danced around her apartment in glee knowing the mess of shit she was starting by relaying this information to a woman who wants nothing more than to have as many grandchildren as Mark's poor balls could produce.
    Earlier that day, at work, Mark and I had discussed that party, somewhat ironically now that I think about it, and how it felt good to show his affection in front of people he considered friends.
    Oh, one of his closet friends was a bit upset, not because Mark was gay, matter of fact this friend's mother is gay, no he was more upset that Mark hadn't trusted him enough to tell him sooner. This small bump was smoothed over rather quickly, and Mark was flying high, so to speak.
    Apparently, after Mark arrived home from work, his mother was waiting for him, crying of course. Mark hasn't really given me all the details, and even if he did, I don't think I would share them here, but to make this long story short, Mark ended up at my house, drunk and high off his ass, crying like a baby, and pretty much destroyed.
    Discovering one's son is gay must be a difficult thing to accept for a Mother, a Christian mother, even though I believe she's had her suspicions, making those supposes into reality must be hard.
    She was pissed, heartbroken, angry, concerned for his well-being, loving, accepting in her way, and generally confused and falling apart.
    So Mark had been staying with me since last week, they talk on the phone every day, and I believe they love each other way to much for this to drive them apart, but I did agree that the best thing for everyone involved was to give them a bit of space to adjust to this new bit of information. And quite happily, they have managed to restructure their relationship, and last night, Mark went home for the first time in a week.
    This made me quite happy, I'm used to living alone, and though I believe I love Mark, neither one of us are ready to move in together just yet. Plus, being such a mommas boy, this rift was slowly destroying him. I'm sure they have a long road to walk down but they both are trying and I have high hopes.
    A few days after his mother found out, Mark and I were at work when one of the servers suddenly asked why Mark was wearing one of my necklace's. This was a piece that he saw in my jewelry box and basically claimed it for his own. He said he wanted it to feel closer to me when I wasnt around. He hasn't take it off since, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers.
    Before I could say anything, Mark put his arm around my shoulders, and said, and I quote, "Because we're fucking." And he kissed my cheek.
    Somewhat surprising for me, everyone was completely shocked, I didn't realize how good we had become at hiding our feelings. Congrats were thrown around like they were free, and almost everyone told me how happy they were that I finally found a great guy to have. This made Mark's day, he was beaming like a kid at Christmas who just got his new shiny bike.
    So the nerdy gay server was a bit un-happy but he'll get over it, after all, he didn't even know me, though he glares at Mark's back when he thinks no one is looking. He'll come around, everyone loves Mark, he's too likable for the nerdy gay to remain jealous.
    So for once, my life seems to be ending on a good note. I can finally let the world know that I'm dating a guy that I really like, Mark says the stress he felt seems to be slipping away, I guess he didn't realize how much energy it took to have a secret life. He still smokes pot, but not everyday, which I'm thinking will slowly disappear the more comfortable he becomes in his new skin.
    My boss was a bit worried at first, but when I told him that Mark and I have been dancing around this relationship for almost a year and assured him that it wouldn't affect my job performance as Mark's boss, he gave me his blessing.
    It seems my boss was the only one that figured out Mark and I had been playing around. I guess it's true what they that you can't fool all the people all the time.
    Jason
    PS: My comment about text-messaging and close-minded bigots was just to throw you off the scent. But I meant what I said about girls, who fucking needs them.
  2. Jason Rimbaud
    The other day I was walking to the B.A.R.T. (Bay Area Rapid Transit), which is another name for the local Subway system, it was late, sometime around 11:PM, when I was approached by three youths, they couldn't have been older than twenty. Even though I was listening to my I-Pod, I am aware of my surrounding, and when they stopped in front of me, barring my way to walk, I took out one of the ear buds, and looked at them blankly.
    The tallest one, which still didn't come up to my shoulder, told me in his broken accent, "This is my block, if you want to continue then we have to do a pocket check."
    Now I'm not completely hip with all the new lingo that is floating around the world, but being as I have spent some time on the streets in my youth, I immediately knew that this young youth was basically saying that since I was on his block, then he was going to take everything that was in my pockets.
    On Saturday, I was witnessed to another crime. This time it was a crack-head looking dude that was hanging around my restaurant's patio. Being that I am rather cynical, the moment I laid eyes on this dirty man, I knew that he was up to no good.
    I watched him for a few minutes, I first thought that he was going to try and steal something off our patio, maybe drinks from a table, or cash after someone paid for their check. I guess if you've been in the restaurant business as long as I have, then over time you start to develop a keen instinct when something isn't quite right. I'm not sure what it is, but just from the body language, I can usually tell when a guest is going to try and skip out on his check, or when a skittish looking crack-head is going to try something shady.
    This time, instead of the crack-head fucking me over, he walked over to the bike-rack that is located right in front of my restaurant, and after producing a pair of chain-cutters, he cuts the bike lock and then quickly jumps on the bike and pedals away.
    Two moments later, the dude who's bicycles the crack-head just stolen, walked outside of my restaurant.
    Now I don't know why those people who have a love of bicycling insist on wearing spandex. It's like something inside them drives them to wear the tightest garments known to humans, a way to showcase the goods so to speak. I like nothing better than to see a guy's goods. But should I really be able to tell what religion a particular human adheres too? Because no one looks good in spandex...not even Lance Armstrong. There comes a time when the garments you wear outshine the sport you have taken up to pursue.
    Cycling is one of those sports. And while I'm speaking on the subject of spandex, why is it those of us humans that are weight challenged are most of the ones that abuse spandex.
    Not even when I was at my best, spandex was never an option. Fuck all, I love riding my bike, but I have never once in all my life, thought I would be a better cyclist by wearing those stupid outfits. Do I really need to see if a cyclist has hemorrhoids or not? I don't think so.
    So the dude that just had his bicycle stolen, who was abusing spandex by the way, took off running after the crack-head who was pedaling his stolen transportation as fast as his half-failed lungs could propel him.
    I would probably make a considerable wager that by the time that very hour had elapse, crack-head had sold that bike and was already high from the profits. But try explaining that concept to spandex wearing wacko, especially after getting the privilege of watching him run down Embarcadero. In a way, it was very entertaining.
    He was circumcised by the way...so maybe spandex might be good for something. At least I knew I shouldn't be shouting out Jewish slurs toward him.
    Not sure if any of you are familiar with Absinthe or the sordid history of this wonderful green liqueur. But my hero, Arthur Rimbaud, and his older French lover, drank this almost exclusively. And a few months ago, I found out that this once outlawed drink was now available in America. Apparently, the powers that be have decided that the terror campaign that was once waged against this wonderful drink was a boatload of shit, they have now agreed that it's a harmless spirit that is no worse than a bottle of Vodka.
    As I type this, I am now drinking this particular beverage, and I must say, I am quite addicted already.
    It's more than a homage to my favorite poet and mentor, though I must admit I was first intrigued by this drink because of my love of Arthur Rimbaud, but as I sampled this intoxicating adult beverage, I am now completely encapsulated under it's spell.
    It's 68% alcohol, and a wonderful green color. Which is why Arthur Rimbaud and his contemporaries called this magical drink, the green fairy. They even went as far as to name this drink the poet's third eye. Now I haven't written poetry in quite a while but I understand why it's nickname is the third eye.
    As I am now drinking this wonderful beverage, and have been for a few hours, I feel so inspired. Is this inspiration due to Absinthe, is it due to my connection to Arthur Rimbaud, or is it due to my own misgivings and a desperate need to have a connection with a poet that completely saved my life in my teens?
    It really doesn't matter, I have given up writing poetry in any way. Matter of fact, I haven't written a new poetry piece in quite some time. I have two pieces that I have written and re-written a dozen times trying to get it right, that one day I will post online and will be the last two pieces of poetry that I will ever write. Even two years ago when I first started these pieces, I knew that they would be the last two pieces of poetry I would ever write.
    Maybe I am scared, maybe that's why I haven't been "able" to complete these pieces even after two years. Or maybe the reason I started writing poetry is obsolete now and I can't let go of the past. Either way, I am two pieces away of being Jason Rimbaud, the poet.
    Not that Absinthe has any bearing on this decision. I am simply following this train of thought to it's bitter end. I am so close to never writing poetry again and in a way it scares the living shit out of me. For so many years, Jason Rimbaud had been mainly known for his poetry. Yeah I've written a Blog that a few people have found amusing over the years, but I can pretty much assure that when asked who the hell is Jason Rimbaud, most people, if they even heard of me, would say he's that poet that has written a lot of pieces a few years ago.
    What have I written lately?
    So I was in the middle of a block and three thugs were demanding that I give them a pocket check. Being that I am not a silly little fag and that I am pretty much a fag that is accused of being straight by even those that know me truly well, I did what was completely in my nature.
    I took out my ear-bud, looked them over one by one, and said in my most centered voice, "It's going to take more than the three of you."
    I then put the ear-bud back inside my ear and promptly ignored the three fuck-heads that were standing in front of me. After a few moments, they retreated to either bother someone else or make their way back to their home.
    It really doesn't matter what they did, because in the end, bullies are nothing more than beings that feed off of fear, if you show them no fear, then they have no power. Make of this what you will...I have already made of this situation what I will...the rest is up to you.
    Jason
  3. Jason Rimbaud
    I've been thinking of deleting my Blog.
    I just don't feel like writing entries any more. It's like when you suddenly realize you don't need therapy anymore. It's just a waste of money and time if you continue seeing the therapist.
    Not that writing these little entries are therapeutic for anyone but myself, though I think I've kept a few of you entertained with my little stories, I think it might be time to retire.
    Much like my poetry, I'm just sick of always writing about myself. I want to focus on story telling, write some good fiction, dust off my imagination and follow wherever it goes.
    (I'll just ignore the fact that I'm writing this even while saying I'm sick of writing about myself)
    What is the purpose of a Blog? To give readers insight into other's lives? Is this somehow enabling the voyeur inside of us?
    Hell, my life isn't more interesting than anyone else's, we all have stories to tell. I don't know...I seem to be rambling about nothing.
    I do have a few things on my mind though. A few weeks ago, through my own stupidity, I think I hurt/pissed off someone I've really come to respect as a person and even considered a friend. This happened here, at Awesome Dude, and it's been weighing heavily on my mind ever since. We all make stupid comments at times, and we all look at the world differently. I never wanted to hurt this person, though I know I did and even apologized for my actions. But I don't know if my words were heard.
    This isn't why I'm thinking about deleting my Blog, just something kicking around my thoughts.
    There has been a few incidents over the last few months, here at Awesome Dude, that have left me rather confused. Mainly because I don't understand why people are getting upset because of someone else's opinions, thoughts, or naivet?. I've always believed that the only way I can be offended by someone else's words, is if I allow those words to offend me. If someone says something that I disagree with, I discount those words and move on. If those words are coming from someone a few years younger than myself, than I shrug and forget it, knowing that with time and experience, that person's views will change as he matures and grows.
    I think we have forgotten what it was like to be young and filled with an unshakable sense that we know everything. At least I felt that way when I was young. And with time, I now realize just how stupid I really was back in the day.
    I don't know, something seems to be missing lately. It's not the arguing on the forums, or the difference in opinion, those I find entertaining, this is something else. I feel like I've become disconnected with Awesome Dude. Much like I felt with Gay Authors, though to be truthful, I don't think I ever gave GA a real chance. Maybe it was being a small fish in a large pond, or maybe because GA is a bit clickish. Yet I could say the same thing here at Awesome Dude. But is it really being clickish if only a small group actually participate while the rest sits back and lurks?
    With every group of friends, over time they develop certain jokes, behaviors that a new person might not understand at first. This isn't being clickish, just familiarity. Being clickish is only if a group of people refuse to include others and I don't think Awesome Dude has that problem. Neither does GA in my opinion.
    What does this have to do with anything? I don't know.
    I still feel like deleting my Blog, I'm still a bit confused why I feel disconnected here at Awesome Dude, and I don't know what to do about Mark.
    Mark, the bane of my happiness it seems. How can a reasonably intelligent man, like myself, fail to disassociate himself from a bad relationship? It's not bad as in violent, it's just bad as in he can't figure out what the fuck he wants and i can't figure out why the fuck I allow him to remain in my life. Believe me, it's not just about the sex, it's great, and it's not because I don't want to be alone, I don't, there is something about this man that drives me completely and utterly insane. Is this what love feels like?
    If I do delete this Blog, I'll probably regret it. There are times I love rambling on about nonsense shit. I like the fact that people like to read my nonsense shit. What I don't like about it, it's all about me. Maybe if I could write about someone else, then it wouldn't seem like such a chore. But then I'd probably get jealous that someone else was getting all the attention.
    It's been a while since I had vacation, and I'm started to feel a bit thin. With my new promotion, my faltering relationship, and my several relapses, I feel a bit fragile. If I can't handle the stress now, how can I hope to maintain my sobriety after the new restaurant opens?
    It's Father's Day, and boy do I have a few things to say about that prick. I hope you're burning in hell you piece of shit rat bastard.
    Moving on...
    Mark left a few hours ago, we talked and had a bit of fun in the bed. I don't feel dirty though I do feel a bit used. I wonder how Mark feels right now? Sometimes I forget the twenty years of brainwashing he has to suffer through just being with me. I've forgotten the self loathing that must be battering his mind even as his lust burns in his veins. Maybe we both do deserve each other.
    Jason
  5. Jason Rimbaud

    Confusing Times

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    The beginning?well that isn?t really the right place to start this particular tale. No not there, that would take more time then I could ask any sane person to suffer through. So instead of the beginning, I think I?ll start in the middle.
    I?ve never had much luck with relationships. For all my slutty ways, I?ve only ever been in three long term relationships. And for those of you that might not know, I?ll define the phrase ?long term relationship?.
    For me, long term relationship is defined, anything that last more than a week.
    What? I tell the truth, even if it?s ugly. It just so happens that most of my truths are a bit dirty.
    Last go back for a bit and I?ll tell you another dirty truth. My first long term relationship was with a boy named, Jason. You might remember this almost straight boy that held my heart in his hand so tightly. After all, I did agree to be his best man a few years later when he got married to this chick he met in a bar.
    Jason was also the same boy that showed up at my apartment the night before his wedding for a final taste of the love that dare not speak its name.
    (For those of you that are/might be interested in knowing more about this boy, check out my Blog at Awesome Dude for an entry called, I?ll Never Wear Boxers Again.)
    I guess it was his way of thanking me for not telling his soon to be wife about our ?special bond? and the four years we spent together.
    And if I am to be speaking truths right now, I must be honest. That sacrifice of silence nearly destroyed me. Jason never knew just how much I loved him. I know this as fact, because each time we slept together, I made sure to say what we were doing, was nothing more than fun. Two close friends helping each other out.
    I was so worried, petrified actually, about scaring him away, never daring to show my true feelings out of fear that he would run to the hills.
    That fear was founded on too many fucking conversations we had over the years. Often, usually the morning after our sex was particularly passionate, he would tell me that he wasn?t gay, and that his one wish in this journey we call life was to find a wife and have a family.
    At first I thought, scratch that, I hoped, it was nothing but bravado mixed with self denial. So I would downplay my feelings, hoping to give him room and the time to sort out his emotions.
    I remember there was a time about a year into whatever we were doing, that he was dating this chick from two towns over. Every single Friday night, after he got off work, he would drive forty-five minutes to her and be gone all weekend only to return to me Sunday night.
    What a fucked up pair we made back then, Monday thru Thursday, we lived together, ate together, laughed together, got drunk together, and slept together. And then Friday night he would leave.
    And every fucking time, I would swear that when he returned, I would tell him exactly how I felt. Sadly, I never really seemed to muster the courage.
    This went on for about four months. And trust me; they were the longest four months of my life.
    It was horrible, on the surface I had everything I ever wanted, never mind the small fact that I had to keep it all a secret and ignore that in front of our friends, I got to hear about this chick and how happy he was spending each weekend with her.
    It was taking a toll, I started drinking heavily again and that turned into treating him like shit, basically behaving like a jealous school girl who can?t understand that her English teacher is already happily married and has no intention of leaving his wife for a spoiled little girl. For a time, I really believed that our friendship was heading towards destruction.
    But then it happened. It was a Friday night, and just like always, he was packing his bag, preparing for his weekend of straightness, when I walked into his bedroom and sat on the bed. After a few moments of me watching him pack, he asked if I needed something.
    ?I love you, you know.?
    That was the first time I ever said those words to someone other than my fucked up family.
    He closed his bag, his back towards me and replied, ?I know.?
    I got up and walked out of the apartment. A few hours later, after many drinks and a sloppy blowjob from some random guy from the club, I return home to an empty apartment. It was the first time I ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive.
    No matter how much I drank or how many blowjobs I got, I couldn?t fill the emptiness that consumed me.
    Sometimes, even when completely hammered, our minds can suddenly have a single lucid thought that shifts everything into place and the world becomes shockingly clear.
    Sitting on my empty bed, clutching his pillow to my chest, and through the self-loathing and Vodka haze, I knew that I could no longer go on fooling myself. Jason and I would never be truly together and I would be better off moving on.
    I didn?t even care that one of us would have to move out of our apartment, all I knew is I couldn?t do it anymore.
    Sometime around 3 am I passed out, fully intending to end it with Jason the moment he returned Sunday night. Around 3:45, I was rudely awoken by someone shaking me. And much to my surprise, it was Jason. He crawled into bed and pulled me close. He kissed my cheek and when I tried to talk, he put his finger against my lips and told me to go back to sleep.
    And in the morning, we woke wrapped in each others arms. And in that moment, I was truly happy.
    Sadly that moment didn?t last long because Jason started whispering in my ear as he held me tight. He told me that he loved me but wasn?t in love with me. He also apologized for leading me on. He said he knew that I wanted more from him but since I never came out and said it, he chose to ignore it because being with me filled a void and he hated to be lonely. He had decided for the sake of our friendship, that we had to stop sleeping together.
    And it worked, for a time, but whatever it was between us, was to powerful and a few months later we started the whole thing again and it lasted another two years before I moved to a different city in a different state on the opposite end of the country to get away from him.
    I guess Jason knew me better than any other human on this planet and I think that night in my bed was the only time he was completely honest with me and to this fucking day, I still believe it was a load of shit.
    Sad, I know, but how I wish for those confusing times again. Anything would be better than the last three weeks.
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    want...want...want...want...want...want...
    I just want Camy to be happy...
    I just want Camy to be satisfied...
    I just want Camy to know he is loved...
    I just want Camy to be joyful...
    Fuck it...I just want Camy!
    Jason *feeling quite giddy and happy this night/morning*
    (written in response to Camy's latest blog entry)
  7. Jason Rimbaud
    It's been almost two months since I started my new bright and shiny job in San Francisco...you know the one I'm talking about. The job that was suppose to give me more time to myself, time I could use to write.
    Well that dream was held up and then smashed to pieces right before my very eyes. I won't make NaNo this year, matter of fact I failed miserably. Oh don't you worry you crazy kids, I'll punish myself accordingly later.
    I had such high hopes and plans, but life keeps fucking me up lately. I get up and go to work, barely having time to wash my body much less touch myself in dirty ways. I still know what my dick looks like, I just haven't beaten it for a while. (and it might owe me money by now)
    I want to tell you about the guy I caught jerking off outside my restaurant window a few weeks ago, but I can't. Because I'm working to fucking much to take the time to relay the tale. I want to tell you about the old queen that sat down at my restaurant and got so drunk he pissed himself sitting in his chair in my restaurant, but I can't, I have to go to work early tomorrow morning and just don't have the strength to tell you about.
    Or the guy I got arrested because he tried to walk out on a $124 check without paying. Or how I walked across the street and caught him in another bar before dragging his broke ass back to my restaurant where I called the police. Not to mention that he owed the other restaurant for the drinks he consumed on their premises before I drug him out by his ear.
    And then there was this guy on the train that was so hot I decided to make out with between Daly City stop and Colman street station. So hot and heavy this make out session was, by the time he got off on his stop, I was standing there with a solid rock erection showing proudly for the rest of the passengers to stare out while I tried to wipe off the stupid grin on my face.
    And then later on in the grocery store when I was doing my weekly shopping, and my mind drifted back to that hot make-out session with this hot guy that I popped another boner all of a sudden and when I turned around, this lovely old lady was standing there, staring at my bulging pants with a horrified look on her face. (though I'm sure she has seen a penis erect before, I don't know why she was so offended)
    Do you have any idea how "hard" it is to do the weekly grocery shopping with a burning erection leading the way? I bet you don't, because I'm sure I'm the only one that is afflicted with man's greatest reflex.
    Fuck me, I'm way to sleepy and maybe a bit drunk to tell you about my last two months. So I'm sure I'll just take more pictures to send to random friends and go to bed. Sleep tight you crazy kids, I know I'll be sleeping restlessly.
    Jason
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    I saw a picture of Camy and his boyfriend, M today.
    Just want to say...wow...Camy is yummy for being such an old man.
    I can't believe his birthday was a few days ago and somehow I missed wishing him the best. So I'll do something out of character, I'll make this blog entry all about someone else today.
    Just to let him know we all are thinking about him...take a moment and send him another or for the first time, birthday wishes and to congrats him for turning the big 50 while managing to look younger than me.
    HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAMY! Best wishes for you and M, I couldn't be happier.
    Well, I could be happier...we could share a pint for your birthday, that would make me happier. Or Mark and I could go away for a few days...though you really can't help me with that.
    Or could you?
    How rich are you? I'm assuming by now, 50 years old, you have to have something socked away for a rainy day. Care to make a donation to the Mark and I getting away for some out of town sex fund?
    Jason (happy to dedicate this blog entry to Camy)
    I just realized, this is two blog entries in a row where Camy is being featured. I hope M don't get made at this silly American for flirting a tad with Camy. But then I saw his picture, M has nothing to worry about. Camy has way better taste than me.
    Jason (for real ending this Shiite)
  10. Jason Rimbaud
    "I'll Never Wear Boxers Again"
    Wibby posted a rather funny story that prompted me to remember a similar incident involving one of my good friends. So I thought I?d share it with my loyal readers. (maybe I should?ve said loyal reader, I don?t want to become to ambitious)
    Anyway, during my late teens and early twenties, one of my best friends was also named Jason. We worked together and were known as the ?two Jason?s? or simply as ?Jason Squared?. After we both turned twenty-one, each Monday night we?d go out for our weekly pub crawl. This night was reserve for just the two of us, no friends, no girlfriends, and no problems.
    It was during these weekly binges that I first told him I was gay. True to his devil may care attitude and laid back demeanor, he took this declaration in stride. Though looking back, I kind of wished he would have been more upset. This would?ve saved me tons of heartache. But I digress?yet again.
    Jason and I were always comfortable around one another. It was common for us to sleep in the same bed, granted, we were passed out. But waking up snuggled together was something that happened often. Before I told him I was gay, we?d go double dating and the girls would often complain that we?d spend more time talking to each other than paying attention to them. Looking back, it was quite obvious that sooner or later we?d start fooling around.
    The first time something happened between was after one of these pub crawls. We had stopped at a gas station to get cigarettes and sodas on the way home from the bar. Jason had to go to the bathroom, so I paid for the grocery?s and waited for him in the truck. After he climbed inside the truck, I noticed he had this weird look on his face and for the rest of the way home; he acted strangely, nervous and giggly at the same time. I chalked it up to a long night of beer.
    Once back inside my apartment, he was flirtatious, in a way he had never been before. I was drunk and getting hornier the more he carried on. After about twenty minutes of this weird flirting, I informed him I was going to bed. It wasn?t that I was really that tired, but I really wanted to toss one off. He looked down at the floor and in this quiet voice, he asked if he could stay with me. He didn?t ask if he could crash, he didn?t ask if he could sleep over, he asked if he could stay with me. For a moment, because I really wanted to jack off, I almost said no. But I never could tell him no, even now, I can?t say no.
    Anyway, and no that was not a digress. So there.
    I took off my clothes, and slipped into a pair of shorts. He asked if he could borrow a pair of boxers to sleep in, something I thought was a really strange request. Jason did not then, nor does he now wear boxers, EVER. I gave him a pair and he went into the bathroom to change. Another thing that was strange.
    I climbed into bed and turned off the lights, and waited. After a few minutes, I heard the bathroom door open and heard footsteps down the hall. The door to my room opened and in walked this?glowing cock. While he was in the bathroom at the gas station, he had bought a glow in the dark condom from the machine on the wall.
    I was more than taken aback, yet intrigued at the same time. I said something along the line of ?nice cock?. To this, Jason laughed and flipped on the lights. It was not his cock that was in the condom, but three of his fingers. We laughed and once again he turned off the lights. I could see him slowly coming towards me, his pretend cock wagging before him leading the way to the bed. I admit I watched him walk towards me wishing that really was his cock.
    Once he reached the bed, he started giggling again, and I watched the hand that had the condom on it move to his side. I saw the condom disappear and realized his fingers were inside the boxers. I realized he was pulling down his boxers when another glow in the dark condom suddenly appeared. Being that he was two feet away from me, this time I could tell that this one really was his cock.
    He took another step, his crotch now inches from my face; I could smell him he was so close. The hand that hand the condom on it, moved from his side to grip his very hard cock. I heard him whisper, ?Do you like what you see?? I didn?t answer, I couldn?t. I didn?t want to risk destroying this moment. I reached out with my hand and touched his cock. He sighed loudly, my wish had come true. Needless to say, neither of us got much sleep that night.
    A few years later, in the after glow, he would admit that for months he was racking his brain, trying to conceive a plan of attack to seduce me. But he wanted to make sure I was interested in something sexual before trying anything. After his admission, it was clear how thought out and methodical he had been. From the constant touching, the sleeping together, suggesting naked hot tubing, everything had been done with the purpose to get me into bed. I asked, why didn?t you just ask me? He replied that I had said shortly after I met him, that I would never have sex with a friend.
    This caused me to laugh, because though he was in the room, it was the girl sitting next to him that I really wanted to hear me say that I would never have sex with my friends. She had been throwing herself at me and I had no desire to catch her. Lots of wasted time, I could?ve saved so much time if I would have just said, guys, I?m gay. Anyway, still not digressing.
    So Jason and I were friends with benefits. To be honest, I was completely head over heels in love with him. And no matter what he says, I know for a time, he loved me as well. Shortly after this incident, he moved in with me and for the next two years, we were almost inseparable. But being gay was/is something he denies being. He?s told me, and I believe him, that I was the only guy he was ever attracted too. I was the best man in his wedding, and the night before he promised to forsake all others, he asked me to fuck him one last time. Okay, this might be digressing. Jesus, be patient already.
    To get around to the point of this post, one night, during those two years that we lived together, we had gotten home after Monday?s pub crawl. Both of us were quite trashed. At the time, he was dating this chick that was away at college and I was trying really hard to catch this nerdy little boy I had been chatting up online. So once back from the bar, I immediately jumped on the computer to see if my boy was up for some dirty talk. He was, and for about an hour, I was content to do some chit and some chat.
    DIGRESSION ALERT! Ever since that first night, whenever I saw Jason in boxers, usually a pair of mine, I knew that he was looking to fool around. If he was wearing briefs, then I was going to be tossing one off alone.
    Like I said, I was chatting for about an hour, when I heard Jason open the door to his room. From where my desk was against the wall, I could turn my head and see Jason?s bed if the door was open. He walked out, wearing a pair of boxers, and headed into the kitchen where he got a drink. Walking back towards his room, he looked at me and smiled. I noticed right away he was rock hard.
    Yet on the computer, my nerdy boy was almost ready to finally meet me in person. We were so close, I could feel it. I looked at the screen, I looked back to Jason, he was now lying on his bed, naked, slowly stroking his cock. I didn?t know what to do, I was horny, ten feet away was a willing boy, yet I kind of liked this nerdy boy as well. But Jason, jacking off while saying my name only a few feet away, and honestly the love of my life, won.
    I walked into his room, he looked at me and smiled, his hand stopped. He pointed his cock in my direction, silently telling me to have my way with him. So I did.
    It was just starting to get fun when suddenly he begun puking his guts out. I was sober enough to get out of the way, but he puked all over his bed, all over himself. It was quite the mood wrecker. Once he finished, he headed into the bathroom and jumped into the shower. Being the neat freak that I am, I cleaned up the mess and threw the sheets in the washer.
    Figuring the night was over, I went back to the computer to see if nerdy boy was still online. He was, again we started chatting. A few minutes later, Jason comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered and still wet with a raging hard cock. He smiles at me, and heads into my room. Needless to say, I never did meet nerdy boy.
    Jason and I had this weird relationship for years. When we were alone, late at night, we would fuck for hours. But it was something we?d never talk about during the day. We had dozens of unspoken rules that we both followed, silently and in secret for years. Never speaking about or acknowledging our lust filled nights.
    Until the day I met his fianc? for the first time. We were talking over dinner, and Jason and I were reliving some of our wilder times. And he gets this smile on his face, and suddenly brings up the time he almost pukes on me. Of course she wants to know why we were in bed together in the first place. I was at a loss for words, but Jason smoothly told her a rated G version of the story.
    Later, when she had gone to the bathroom, he started laughing, saying something about the look on my face. I didn?t think it was funny, remember, I was still in love with him and more than a bit jealous. He leaned in close and whispered, ?You give the best head I?ve ever received. And I know I can?t love you the way you want me too, but sex with you is something I?ll never forget, no matter who I marry.?
    It was the first time he ever admitted to fucking me while sober. But it was the right thing to say, because that statement convinced me to agree to be his best man. Sadly, I?ve not seen him since the wedding. I hear he has a baby girl now, and I wish him the happiest of lives. And though our friendship has fallen away, I?ll always have the memories of that apartment and the time we spent together.
    Jason R.
    PS: During that night I met his fianc?, she brought up the fact that he refuses to wear boxers. Jason and I exchanged looks, and started laughing. He kissed her, then said, ?I love you, but I?ll never wear boxers. I used too for a time but I stopped.? The night before his wedding, he was wearing boxers.
  11. Jason Rimbaud
    Frequently Asked Questions
    Current Music Selection: Dashboard Confessional
    Current State: Five by Five
    Current Mood: Expended
    Frequently Asked Questions:
    In no particular order
    1: How old are you?
    In gay terms, I?m over the hill and very much the stereotypical Aquarius. This means I?m somewhere between twenty-seven and ninety-nine. But if it counts, I still behave like I?m eighteen.
    2: Why aren?t you ever signed on to Yahoo Messenger?
    I?ve never been one to go to chat rooms. And before I began posting on Awesome Dude, I never had a reason to sign on to Yahoo Messenger. But now I?ll automatically sign in so if you see me online, I promise I?ll answer all IM?s. Though I can?t promise to engage you in interesting conversation, I?m lacking most times in that department.
    3: What do you look like?
    The same way you do I guess. I have two eyes, sometimes four depending if I?m wearing my glasses or contacts. My nose has been broken three times though I must admit plastic surgery has done wonders for me and I look decidedly average. I have blue eyes and have been told this is my greatest attribute. I have dark brown hair and much to my chagrin, my hair has been committing suicide lately. (for all of you with thick hair, that means I?m slowly going bald) I?m somewhere between 5?11 and 6? depending on the time of day I measure. My weight fluctuates between 170 and 160, depending on my depression and alcohol intake.
    4: Why haven?t you recorded a promo for Awesome Dude Radio?
    I hate the way I sound on tape. Usually my mind is running so fast I have trouble articulating my words and typically end up stuttering or mumbling incoherently. And for the most part, my speaking voice resembles the sound a pregnant yak makes during a particular hard birth. The listeners would turn off the radio and never venture back.
    5: Why is it, usually in your emails, that you seem to have trouble conveying your thoughts and ideas?
    Anti-depressants and alcohol are never a good mix. And according to Daniel, I tend to forget that I already took my pill for the day and end up taking another one, this fucks with me on several levels. Although I must admit, getting the dosage wrong is always an adventure.
    6: Are you single?
    Yes. I have trouble with intimacy as you probably already surmised by reading my poetry and my blog.
    7: Is So Called Chaos your first story?
    No, I have written three complete novels over the last five years though no one will ever read them. Believe me, they suck.
    8: Why did you post a short story, Moonlight Will Prevail, in your blog? Is this a true to life story?
    I guess you could say this story is a ?true story?, it?s just not my true story. I had the pleasure of knowing the protagonist, Angel (though in the story I left out his name) and from the first moment he relayed this story, I knew I had to write it down. I broke it down in ten installments to make it easier to read and to give me the chance to do much needed re-writes. Other than that, I guess I just loved the piece.
    9: Are you ever going to put up a picture either on your website or Awesome Dude?
    One day I?m sure I?ll finally get a camera and take the time to learn how to up-load pictures. Though I can?t see that happening anytime soon. I?m not fond of cameras, plus, I have this fear of the camera possibly stealing my soul.
    10: Have you thought about ?reading/performing? one of your poems to include it on Awesome Dude?
    Forgetting about my ?I hate the way I sound on tape? thing, I?ve always considered myself a writer. And though I write about my personal life and allow the readers access into my most private thoughts, the idea of performing scares the hell out of me. And usually, once I write a piece, I?m done with it and off to the next one. I?ll leave that medium to those better suited to it.
    11: I see that you mention ?John? frequently in your poems and throughout your blog, is this the same person each time, and, is he a real person or a composite of several past boyfriends?
    John is very much a real person. Without giving you the entire sordid history, John and I had a brief but passionate love affair some years ago. This was a period of rampant drug use on both our parts and being we both are highly emotional people, our relationship was quite volatile. I find it therapeutic to write about the experience. If I didn?t, I might just grab a gun and go searching for the little bastard.
    12: Is Jason Rimbaud your real name? If not, what is and why did you pick that name to write under?
    I chose Jason Rimbaud for two reasons. Arthur Rimbaud, a French poet who?s most famous piece is called, A Season in Hell, had a great impact on my life during my teenage years. And the name Jason, is in reference to a good friend of mine who first encouraged me to find a home online. As for my real name, if you ask polite enough, I just might tell you.
    13: I really liked So Called Chaos and A Moment of Clarity, but each time I try to contact you through Awesome Dude, my email is returned. How can I reach you?
    Somehow, someway, Awesome Dude and my email address don?t get along. As far as I know, there is no way to remedy this. If you need to contact me, try using Awesome Dude Private Message or send me an email at jasonrimbaud2006@yahoo.com from your personal email account, bypassing Awesome Dude all together. As far as I know, this is the only way.
    14: If I send you an excerpt from my story, will you read it and give me your thoughts?
    Of course, though I think there are others better suited to this task. I found my current editor by posting a cry for help in the Editor section of Awesome Dude forums. Plus, don?t forget about The Bull Pen, a great place to get feedback from people more talented than I.
    15: I?ve enjoyed reading the poems you?ve posted at Awesome Dude. My question is, how long does it take you to write each poem?
    Writing times varies but usually I never spend more than an hour actually sitting in front of the computer. Normally I start with a title, usually inspired by music. Once I have the title, I might think about what I want to say for days and in some cases weeks before I ever sit down at the computer. So when I sit down, the piece flows out of me and after tweaking it for a bit, I post it and move on.
    16: I see from your blog entries, your almost constant poetry posts, and your running serial novel, that you spend a lot of time writing. Do you write each day or do you write in spurts when the creativity strikes you?
    I write each and every day. And usually I spend five or six hours each night in front of the computer writing something. This is a habit I do seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. I have to write, it?s something inside of me I can?t control. I?ve never understood those writers that only write once a week or when the ?muse? strikes. I never sit in front of the computer and stare at a blank screen. If I get stuck on a story I?m writing, I put that story away and move over to one of the other projects I have running. I found that if I take my mind of the story I?m having trouble with and go on to something else, my sub-conscious usually works out the problem for me. Sometimes it takes hours and sometimes it takes day, but during that time, I spend that time writing other things, usually poetry.
    17: You?ve said on several occasions that you do not like stories written in the first person, why not?
    In my experience, stories that use the ?first? person narrative tend to repeat themselves. The author usually has pages of ?inner dialogue? that tells the action instead of showing the action through character interaction. Or, and this really annoys me, the protagonist, through ?inner dialogue? will explain a trait about a certain character, then in the following paragraph, the protagonist will say the same thing through ?real dialogue? with another character. This happens all the time and it drives me crazy. Though I?ve found exceptions to this rule, and I always give a story a chance even if it is written in the ?first person?. This is my opinion and my personal tastes, nothing more.
    18: Who are some of your favorite online authors and what are some of your favorite stories?
    I?ve enjoyed stories by Dom Luka, Dan Kirk, Dio, and countless others. Though I must admit, I don?t spend much time reading online stories. I spend way too much time trying to construct my own stories. The above authors, all write in the ?first person? by the way. Laika by elecivil is definitely a favorite of mine and I never miss a post. Again, totally written in the first person. Always exceptions to the rule.
    19: I?ve noticed your poetry is on the dark side, why didn?t you submit a story for Halloween?
    I never really liked ?horror? stories, or movies for that matter. Plus, I?ve never had an idea dealing with those themes. The closest I?ve ever got was A Moment of Clarity, which is by no means a horror story.
    20: I live in the San Francisco area, I love reading your poetry, would it be possible to ever meet you in person?
    As flattering as that sounds, I?m afraid the answer is no. I?m really not that interesting to talk to and you never know, I might be some crazy killer just waiting to get you alone. I think it would be best if you?d stay away.
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    So earlier this year, I started a show called Watchmen on HBO. I was actually a huge fan of the movie when it came out in 2009, and was really excited to see what HBO was going to do with that property. And I was really excited to find out that it wasn’t going to be a remake of the movie but more of a continuation of that story in the same universe. From the opening scenes I was hooked and after I watched the last episode, I wanted to find out who created it.
    And that’s when I was introduced to Damon Lindelof. And as I have nothing else going on I did a deep dive back into his credits to see what else he has done.
    Tomorrowland, never saw it, The Leftovers, never heard of it. World War Z, didn’t like it. Star Trek, Into Darkness, loved it. Prometheus, never watched it. Cowboys and Aliens, didn’t like it. And then I saw Lost in his credits. And then I saw that along with J.J. Abrams, Damon co-created and wrote more episodes than anyone else and served as the show-runner because J.J. was busy doing other things.
    Full disclosure, I’m not a huge J.J. Abrams fan. I think he single-handedly destroyed what little bit of love I had for Star Wars left after The Rise Of Skywalker. And though the re-make of Star Trek was okay, I thought Into Darkness was by far the stronger movie. And like most people, I was first introduced to the highly over-rated Benedict Cumberbatch, in this Lindelof penned movie.
    After finding out that Lindelof was the co-creator and prolific writer of Lost, I was intrigued to see how Lost would hold up to Watchmen. Judging by his age, and when Lost came out, I figured the writer that wrote Watchmen would be more mature, more confident, then the writer who wrote Lost. But Lost was a cultural pheromone back in the late 00’s, and I only missed it mainly because I didn’t have TV back then and streaming shows weren’t invented yet.
    And again full disclosure, I have seen a few episodes of Lost way back in 2004 and have heard the debate about the last two seasons, but I hadn’t really ever watched the show from start to finish much to the chagrin of one of my closest friends who figuratively eats and breaths this show even after it’s been almost ten years since the finale episode was shown. (Side-note, IMDB TV started streaming Lost for free May 1st, 2020 to mark the ten year anniversary of the finale)
    And since I’ve been out of work since March 18th, 2020, and rarely leave my condo in the hills of Twin Peaks in San Francisco, and the fact that I am pretty much bored with everything else on Netflix, Hulu, and/or Amazon Prime, I contacted my friend and asked if I could borrow the first season of Lost to finally  see what the fuss is about.
    You would have thought I asked him to be god-parent to my non-existent kids he was so happy. He started rambling on how we can finally talk about Lost and how excited he was to go on this journey with me as someone who never watched the show.  Like he could finally see it for the first time again through my eyes.
    And since my husband and I are really taking the shelter in place seriously, it was decided that my friend, “O” and I would watch the show together via face-time every day. Because I wasn’t going to allow him to come to my condo, I’m not sure he even knows what Covid 19 is much less that he’s suppose to stay inside his house. But that’s another topic.
    So on an infrequent trip to Target, I bought the first season of Lost and we picked a date to start watching the show together. I’m not sure if you ever watched a show before with a super fan, but it wasn’t more than 15 minutes into the episode before “O” started spouting off things that were foreshadowing later episodes down the line. I quickly realized watching it with him was not going to work so we came up with a new system. I would watch the show, make a few notes, and then afterwards we would discuss the episode and talk about where I thought it might be heading and so on. But only if he would refrain from answering any of my questions I might have or guesses of the future.
    And that lasted about ten minutes after I was finished with the two part pilot episode. So now, I’m watching season one alone, but I continued to make notes of the show and what will be following, is my take of Lost Season One, episode by episode.
    I am trusting that anyone who is reading this, will refrain from making spoilers in the comments, or correcting any of my guesses on where I think the story is going.
    And when it was going to be “O” and I watching together, we came up with a few rules that I continue to follow. I won’t refer to any of the actors by their real names, only their character names. And anything I say about anyone on the show is directed to their characters and not the actor portraying said character. During the course of this first season, I went back to earlier episodes and either watched it again or added to my notes as certain things stood out to me in later shows that didn’t occur to me during my first watch along. Any added comments will be in bold so you know when they were written.
    For the first several episodes, many of the main characters were never mentioned by name so I made up names for them until they were formally introduced on the show.
    And though I probably shouldn’t have to say this, I will be spoiling each episode as I post these Blogs.
    Lost Season One: Pilot Part One: (Jack Centric)
    The show opens with a close up of someone’s very blue eye. Blue eyes is wearing a suit and tie and is in the jungle. A yellow dog runs past and Blue Eyes gets up and runs through the jungle until he comes out on a beach. The sound seems muffled until the camera pans to the left and we see completely chaos and the screaming and noise from one of the engines comes blasting into the scene. Littered down the beach is wreckage from a plane crash.
    Blue eyes frantically looks around until he hears someone yelling and sees a man trapped under a wheel strut. As he runs down the beach, the camera focuses in on several actors on screen who I assume will become the protagonists of the show. Black Man is screaming out for Walt several times,
    Blue Eyes calls for a few people to help him and together they lift the wheel strut and pull the man to safety. Blue Eyes sees a very pregnant lady and rushes to help her. Claire has the most annoying Australian accept I ever heard, and I’m assuming it’s not a real accent.
    Blue Eyes realizes that Claire is fine and instructs Big Dude to take her somewhere out of the way and if the contractions come faster than three minutes apart to come find me. That’s when we are first introduced to Jack.
    Jack sees Pretty Boy trying to give a black lady CPR and tells him he’s doing it wrong. Pretty Boy is clearly panicking so Jack sends him off to find a pen, more to get rid of him than for any reason.
    After he saves Black Lady, he sees the wing of the plane is starting to fall down, and wouldn’t you know it, its right over the very pregnant lady and Big Dude. He rushes over and saves them in the nick of time when the wing crashes down and explodes. (I’m assuming because of the gas?)
    Jack goes into the jungle and takes off his coat and shirt, he has a deep gash in his side. He has found a sewing kit, and from his coat pocket, he pulls out a small bottle of Vodka. Then a beautiful lady from the Hobbit movie comes out of the jungle and after a few words, sews up Jack’s side.
    Jack tells her a story when she asks why he isn’t afraid. He tells her a story of his first lead surgery where he cuts something near the spinal cord, and he knew that he had to do something. So he allowed the fear to flood him but only for five seconds. Then he would get back to work. Pretty interesting story and gives the viewer a lot of information about this doctor that is going around helping everyone so calm and focused.
    I loved how he helped everyone else before he took a moment to fix what I can only assume is a very painful cut on his back.
    Later that evening, the whole camp is suddenly aroused when something is heard crashing in the jungle. It looks massive as whole trees are knocked over and it seems to move very fast, and it has the most eerie sound. We don’t get a chance to see it but it’s big and menacing.
    Flashback, Jack is sitting in his seat and flirting with the flight attendant, he makes a joke about the weak drink and we see why he had vodka bottles in his suit pocket, pretty cool call back. Across the aisle from Jack is the Black Lady he saved on the beach by giving CPR. She mentions she doesn’t like to fly and that her husband is in the bathroom. Jack says he’ll keep her company until the husband returns. Right before the turbulence started, the one where I’m assuming was the reason they crashed, Merry from Lord of the Rings runs past being chased by the same flight attendant that gave Jack the Vodka. The turbulence became so violent the little masks fell down and someone behind Jack who didn’t have his seat belt on was thrown up into the air. Pretty cool.
    Jack, Kate, Merry decide to head off into the jungle looking for the nose of the airplane. Jack thinks that if they can find it, that all planes carry a transceiver that will allow them to contact any rescuers that will be looking for them.
    They see the nose of the plane resting against a tree so they go inside and climb up the aisle way. Its pretty gruesome, at one point Merry almost falls down and he grips the leg of one of the dead bodies.
    Once at the cockpit, Jack breaks open the door and one of the pilots falls out and down to the ground. Jack asks if Kate was okay, and Merry replies, “Charlie’s okay too.
    One of the pilots is alive, but pretty banged up in the crash. But he informs Jack and Kate, that a few hours out of Sydney, the radio went dead so they turned back around to head back. They are at least a thousand miles off course and no one will know where to look for them.
    He shows them the transceiver and Jack asks, where is Charlie? Kate goes looking for him and he comes out of the bathroom. Moments later, the unknown/unseen monster is back and after a moment, rips the pilot out of the plane. Jack, Kate and Charlie run out into the jungle, the monster seemingly right behind them. Its pouring rain and they get separated, with Kate hiding in the middle of a few trees. She is frantically looking around and thinking back to Jack’s earlier story, she starts counting to herself, one, two, three, four, and she says boone, which is weird.
    The rain stops and she finds Jack and Charlie who look up, and the body of the pilot is high in the trees and fade to black.
     
    Lost Season One: Pilot Part Two (Charlie and Kate Centric)
    Opens on Jack, Kate, and Charlie walking in the jungle trying to operate the transceiver. And for no real reason, except for plot, Kate asked Charlie why he went to the bathroom in the plane. Conversations like these usually have some significance later on in movies and TV shows. Charlie says that he was so scared he had to throw up, does a throw-away comment about being a coward.
    Flashback, Charlie is running past Jack and Black Lady but this times follows Charlie as he searches in vain for an open bathroom. Once he finds one, he locks the door behind him and pulls out some yellow looking powder from his shoes. He takes a bit of the powder and eats it and quickly relaxes a bit. So Charlie is an addict. Turbulence starts and he drops the bag of drugs into the toilet. He struggles for a moment before leaving the bathroom to find a seat and straps himself in just as  the plane lurches about violently.
    Blonde Chick is sun tanning herself on the beach while everyone else seems to be doing something. Pretty Boy asks her for some help and she implies that she’s going to wait until rescue. Pretty Boy is her brother and the two start arguing.
    Pretty Boy leaves and Claire, the pregnant chick, is talking to Blonde Chick and Claire confides that she hasn’t felt the baby move since the day before right after the crash.
    Black Man is once again yelling out for “Walt”.
    For those of you keeping track, mainly me, this is four times thus far Black Man screams out “Walt”.
    But Walt is out looking for his dog, which I’m assuming is the one Jack saw in the opening moments of the show. Walt is screaming out Vincent and finds a pair of handcuffs in the jungle. Black Man finds him right after and in a very angry tone says something like, I told you to stay on the beach. Walt replies back as only an adult writing for a child would, and we realize that Black Man is Walt’s dad. I kind of get the feeling that Black Man doesn’t really like his son much. I’m sure its suppose to come across as worried, but I feel like Black Man is not a good person.
    Middle Eastern and Blonde Southern Guy are rolling around the ground fighting. Southern Guy is accusing Middle Eastern man of being a terrorist and Middle Eastern is accusing Southern Blonde for being the prisoner that goes with the handcuffs. They are pulled apart by Big Dude and we find out Middle Eastern name is Sayid, a former Republican Guard during the Iraq War as a communications expert. Big Dude is named Hurley, and I really like both of these characters right off the bat. Something about Sayid tells me he is very confident and extremely intelligent. Plus he has cool hair.
    Sayid informs Hurly that the transceiver is working but they need to get to high ground to get a strong signal to be able to broadcast their position. He points to a high point in the distance.
    There is a man with a piece of metal sticking out of his stomach that will die if something isn’t done soon. Jack is trying to figure out what he should do and gives a rundown what will happen to the man if nothing is done.
    Lost now gives us a moment to focus on some of the other survivors, one couple is Asian, and from the looks of it, they are married, but the way Husband talks to Wife, they are extremely conservative and Wife looks about crestfallen while Husband tells her to button up her shirt. But the moment Husband's back is turned, Wife defiantly unbuttons it again.
    Husband is preparing what looks like sushi, and tries to go about getting people to eat it. Hurly makes a joke that as hungry as he is, he won’t be eating it.
    Lost again goes out of the way to imply that Black Man and Walt do not really get along at all. But Black Man speaks in clichés and comes across as angry all the time.
    We find out that Blonde Chick is named Shannon. Pretty Boy and Shannon are again arguing about who knows what, but that prompts Shannon to approach Sayid, Kate, Charlie, about going out with them to higher ground. Pretty Boy goes along as well, presumably to protect his bitchy sister.
    Southern Blonde Man is reading a letter with a look of concern on his face and smoking a cigarette. This is the first time I’ve wanted a cigarette since I stopped two months ago when I went into Shelter At Home. He sees the group heading out so he decides to come with them. We find out that Southern Blonde Man is named Sawyer.
    An Older Bald Man, who we’ve seen in the background until now, and really the only time we see him fully is when it was raining and he was sitting in the rain with a look of glee, is sitting on the beach playing with a game of Backgammon.
    Walt approaches Bald Man and without turning his head, Bald Man says, Backgammon is the oldest game in the world. Two players, two sides, one is light, one is dark. Then he looks at Walt and says cryptically, “Do you want to know a secret?”
    This struck me as important, because normal people wouldn’t say one side is light, one side is dark, they would say black or white. Something is being set up with this character and his mysterious declarations, so I know to pay attention with this guy.
    Sayid and company are walking in the middle of the jungle and Sawyer keeps pressing Sayid to try the transceiver but he doesn’t want to, to protect the batteries when all of a sudden a crashing sound is heard and what I know to be for a fact a bear due to hours of playing Red Dead Redemption 2, comes crashing out of the jungle at the company. Everyone runs away except Sawyer who stands his ground with a look of determination on his face. Once the bear is close enough, Sawyer raises a gun, where the hell did he get a gun, and shoots the bear several times before it drops down almost at his feet.
    It’s a polar bear, in the middle of this jungle…now that was badass.
    Jack has settled on a course of action for the man with the metal sticking out of his body, and has enlisted Hurly to help him find any antibiotics that will help with his infection.
    Flashback, we see the man before he got a piece of metal inside his stomach, sitting on the plane flirting with the flight attendant, and we see Kate sitting next to him. After a brief conversation between the two about juice, we see Kate is the one that was handcuffed and she is this man’s prisoner. Now we know where the handcuffs came from and who they belong too.
    Kate takes the gun from Sawyer and in a comical scene, asks how to take the gun apart. She takes out the clip and the bullet in the chamber, and then gives it to Sayid. Sawyer makes a crack about giving it to the terrorist so everyone decides that Kate should have it. She takes the gun but Sayid has the bullets. Kind of funny, that they trust her for some reason, not knowing that she is the prisoner. Though the way she was acting with the gun, maybe murder wasn’t her crime.
    Sayid figures they are high enough, so he turns on the transceiver and gets a few bars but can’t broadcast because there is a stronger signal somewhere on the island that is broadcasting already. He tunes into the signal and a French Lady’s voice who is on a looping broadcast. Pretty Boy says Shannon can speak French so she translates the message, Everyone is dead, I’m all alone now on the island.
    Sayid figures out that the message is on a loop, and has been broadcasting for 16 years and 5 months. The camera pans back and then for a close up of Charlie’s face who asks, “Where are we?” Fade to Lost Logo.
    Wow, some pretty cool characters, a few mysterious ones, a criminal, a polar bear, and some kind of pre-historic monster stalking around the jungle. I’m hooked for now, can’t wait for the next episode.
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    So I had a single GAY man and his mother come in to the restaurant today. When I saw him walk in the door, I actually paused in mid-step. He was gorgeous. One of the female servers was near me and she made the remark that he was dreamy. I smiled at her and replied, "Don't bother, he plays for my team."
    She asked, "How do you know?"
    I smiled mysteriously at her and said, "Trust me."
    As luck would have it, the man and his mother sat in my section and I ended up serving them. Throughout the dinner, the man and I would do some chit and some chat. Nothing really bad, just some harmless flirting, much to the amusement of the man's mother.
    Once dinner was over, they ordered a dessert and declared that they would share it.
    What I wanted to say was, "Aw, that's sweet."
    But what actually came out of my mouth was, "Aw, that's qweet."
    The man looked at me and flashed a smile, saying, "Did you just say that's qweet?"
    I blushed and nodded my head.
    His mother spoke up, "Qweet, that's sounds like a mix of queer and sweet. What exactly are you accusing my son of being, a sweet queer?"
    Needless to say, I blushed even more and they had a good laugh at my expense.
    I walked away and got the check ready. I placed it on the table after they paid and wished them a good night. I just happened to be standing at the door talking to my manager as they were leaving. My manager, as he inquires of every guest, asked, "How was everything this evening?"
    The mother looked at me and with a big grin, said, "The dinner was wonderful. And the service was lovely."
    My manager, completely unaware of the earlier conversation, looked at me and said, "Jason's one of our best servers."
    The mother replied without missing a beat, "He deserves a raise, not only did he take care of us but he invented a new word for my son."
    They walked out the door as my manager looked at me, a confused look on his face. I shook my head and just walked away.
    So today, I invented a new word. What did you do?
    Jason R.
  14. Jason Rimbaud

    Stay Connected

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Current Music Selection: Papa Roach?the paramour sessions
    Current State: California
    Current Mood: Hungry
    In this fast paced life we live, the term ?being connected? has come to dominate our terminology. From the slow dial-up modem to the faster than light connection of DSL, Internet cafes, ?wired cities? and desktop PC?s, almost every human in America has a love affair with this Super Information Highway. (Write thank you note to Al Gore)
    I can get up-to-date scores on my cell phone, watch my Satellite TV right on my PDA (Sling-Box, the fourth greatest invention) send and receive dirty pictures of nameless ?internet? friends, keep in contact with my friends back in Pennsylvania, and thousands of other features we all take for granted.
    And yet sometime Wednesday morning, I lost my Internet connection. Okay, let me explain. Unlike his Dudeness, I don?t live in a third world country. I live in one of the most wired cities in America. How did I lose my Internet connection? I?ll explain.
    My roommate, Daniel, never bothered getting Internet access at his house. Mainly because he is one of the cheapest people I know and for four years he had been happy stealing access from one of his many neighbors. When I moved in, I bought a wireless card and enjoyed the same freedom. But Wednesday morning, okay more like afternoon, I got out of bed and turned on my computer to check email and to make my daily peruse of AD?s forums.
    ?NO INTERNET CONNECTION AVAILABLE?
    For a moment I sat there staring at the screen. My poor brain could not process the words. I didn?t know what to do; it was as if I reverted back to a child seeing the microwave work for the first time. Much like the scene in Zoolander, I reverted back to my primal self. I frantically tried to sign on again, like maybe I hit the wrong button the first time around. Or perhaps I had forgotten how to connect online. After failing six or seven times, I called Daniel and asked him for advice. I?m not sure what he was suppose to do but apparently I lost my mind. I felt naked, it was the first time I was ?not connected? and much like a junkie, I was in full-blown withdrawal mode.
    I even called my friend, Ann, in Pennsylvania, a tech-junkie that has forgotten more about computers than I?ll ever know, and asked her advice. Surely she?d know how to get my fix, wave her magic wand and say poof, may the fairy have Internet or some such shit. Well, I can tell you she did call me a fairy, but mainly because I interrupted her during an important meeting, and if she had the ?magic wand?, I?m not sure waving it would have been her first act with said wand.
    Undaunted, I continued my quest to get ?connected?. I grabbed my laptop and walked around my backyard, trying different spots to see if I could steal someone else?s access. No dice, why do all my neighbors have their modems set up for ?secured access only?? The nerve of some people, keeping all that porn to themselves. After screaming at random houses from my backyard, making sure my neighbors knew how I felt about them and their private access, I sat down and tried to conceive a plot to once again become connected.
    I considered breaking into random houses around my neighborhood and stealing the access code from the back of the modem or pretending to be a repair technician and steal the access code that way. I went as far as to look through my closet for any clothing that might resemble a repair technician?s uniform. I was in the process of combing my hair, you know parted on the left side to look more like ?them?, you know what I mean, straight, when Daniel came home.
    After listening patiently to my plan to steal the access code, he shook his head and said, ?Why don?t we just call ATT and hook up our own high-speed Internet.? Or we could do that, though my plan to steal it seemed more adventurous. Is it just me or is stolen Internet access somehow more fulfilling than the Internet access obtained legally? Like maybe you get access to better porn sites if you steal it or something.
    I guess the point of this post is this, for four days I went without Internet. Though I must admit the first two days were the hardest. By the time access was restored, I had stopped shaking and most of the craving has all but disappeared. Upon returning home from work Saturday night, Daniel had written me a note saying the Internet is now up and running. I ran, not kidding, I run full blown down the hall, my shoes echoing on the hardwood floor, waking up Daniel and causing his dogs to temporarily lose their minds.
    The two minutes it took my computer to turn on was the longest two minutes of my life. I sat there in my chair, staring at the screen, willing the programs to run faster, I hadn?t even bothered to take off my jacket. By the time my little computer in the bottom right of the screen started blinking, I was in a full-blown frenzy.
    My hands were shaking as I waited for Yahoo mail to open up. Who had emailed me in the four days I had been away? How many fan letters did I receive about So Called Chaos? Who did frame Roger Rabbit? I need answers to all these questions.
    Finally the page opened and my eyes found my in-box folder, there it was, big as life. ZERO. I had been gone four days and no one sent me a single email. Which brings me to my present state, how did this monster called ?Information Super Highway? ever get such control over our lives? I felt naked and lost during my four day absence yet I missed nothing. It was all there just as I left it, the same porn sites, Awesome Dude, Nifty, History Channel, youtube, they were all their just as I left them.
    Do I really need to be so connected I was willing to break into someone?s house? Have I forgotten how to talk to someone face to face? Why do I feel alone in a crowd yet feel accepted in a chat room filled with other lonely people looking for the same thing I search for? Maybe I need to ?disconnect? periodically and go out into the real world. Head off into the wild blue yonder and find my life instead of hiding behind profiles or screen names.
    Fuck that, bring on the porn and faceless tricks via cameras. I say fuck the world, or at least until the world has a place to maintain a constant connection. Until then, my ass will be planted firmly in my chair, a smoldering cigarette in the ashtray, an empty bottle of wine on the floor, and me wearing no pants. Cheers all you junkies out there, technically we aren?t alone. Remember, if everyone in the world would, at the same time, unzip their pants, it would be a sound that would echo across the world and out into space. Let the aliens know we all aren?t hell bent on destroying the world. That at least some of us, just want to stay connected.
    Jason R.
  15. Jason Rimbaud
    TV Commercial?s Might be the Reason why I?m Alone
    I?m sure you?re wondering how I could possibly make this statement with a straight face. Or even how I could offer evidence to prove this bizarre statement. Well mister, you just read along before you reach a decision.
    There are times, not always, but certain times I flip a coin to make simple decisions for me. Like maybe, I can?t decide on which pair of pants to wear, I flip a coin. Or whether or not to call the boy I hooked up with the previous night for round two. Simple things like that.
    And when I do flip a coin, I always do whichever action fate has decreed, fate chooses a path and I walk it.
    So yesterday, Saturday, I was undecided on what I wanted to eat for lunch. I was torn between eating at my favorite Chinese Food restaurant, and ordering a thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. So torn between these two choices was I, I called up my ex-roommate, Daniel, and asked his opinion.
    He told me to go fuck myself. I hung up the phone and sat on my bed. After realizing that I could not possibly fuck myself, I called up my friend from Pennsylvania, and asked her advice. Ann only laughed in my ear and told me to grow a pair of balls and make a fucking decision; after all it was my stomach. I accused her of being biased; she is the one on a diet and is not allowed to eat either food.
    For a while, maybe an hour, I walked around my house, trying to reason out what I wished for lunch. I went on line, browsing the different sites, hoping something would reach out and grab my stomach. But alas, dear readers, it was to no avail. I was still deadlocked between Chinese Food restaurant and thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut.
    Looking at the clock, I realized I had to make my mind up soon or it would be me deciding on dinner. And I really didn?t have the energy to try and tackle that decision whilst sober. Let?s face it; I?m just not that good.
    So I thought to myself, ?Fuck it, I?ll flip a coin and let fate decide.?
    I went to my closet, and grabbed out my box of change that I keep there on the shelf. Some of you might be wondering if I have a lucky quarter that I use, but I don?t. Matter of fact, I never use the same quarter more than once. The reason, I don?t want to blend the two different decisions together. Especially if I?m using the same quarter to make the same decision. How do I know the decision from the previous flip won?t interfere with the current flip? I don?t, and neither do you.
    Finding a quarter that?s worthy of making this decision is a task in and of itself. It must be shiny and new, no dull quarters are allowed. The edges must be as close to round as possible, no scratches or dents are allowed. Rhode Island quarters, as well as Florida quarters are strictly forbidden, the reason should be fairly obvious to those that follow elections that are held on a national level.
    Finding the right quarter took a better part of half an hour, but I finally decided on a new shiny California quarter, minted in 2005. Very pretty if I say so myself.
    I hold the quarter, balanced on my left thumb, and say to myself while looking in the mirror, ?I designate thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut heads, and Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant tails.? I find that if I say this aloud, then it binds me to the final decision of the coin.
    So I take a deep breath and toss the coin in the air. At that moment, a commercial for Pizza Hut appears on my TV, reminding me of a lighthouse beacon cutting through the darkness. (Or in my case, a lighthouse beacon cutting through the indecision of my low blood sugar) I think, ?Pizza would be good.?
    I almost miss catching the coin, this would be bad as it renders the coin toss useless and you must find another shiny perfect quarter. It lands in my left hand and I cover it with my right. Much like a child would peek from his bed in the darkness, I look at the coin in my hand. It was tails, Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant. But I?m saddened now.
    Because that damn commercial on TV, I now have this craving for thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. Yet I had long ago made the rule that I always follow the result of the coin toss. Fuck, what do I do?
    I look at the coin in my hand, I look at the TV, back to my hand, to the TV. How can I work this out and still follow my predetermined rules?
    I have it. ?Best two out of three.? I say triumphantly to myself in the mirror.
    This time, I say to myself in the mirror, ?I designate Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant heads, and thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut tails.? Fuck, its heads.
    If I were to follow the rules I agreed to, then Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant would be my lunch. But that damn commercial had me craving thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. It?s not fair; I finally made my mind up, but just a bit too late.
    I look at the coin, I look at the TV, I look at the coin, and I look at myself in the mirror. ?You promised?, a little voice in the back of my head says. ?Remember the rules? another chimes in. ?Just this once, it?s all right. No one?s going to know, its okay? my low blood sugar says seductively. I cave, ?Fuck it.? That damn pizza on TV looked to good to pass up. ?Just this once?I promise? I say to my frowning face in the mirror.
    I throw the coin on my bed and grab the phone. I called 411 for the number to Pizza Hut (And no, I don?t have the number in my phone. You want reasons, I?ll give you reasons. First, I?m really lazy and have never bothered to look up the number. Second, if I know it will cost me money each time I order thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut then I won?t order it as much. See, two reasons right off the bat.) and eagerly await the Pizza Hut person to pick up and take my order.
    While I wait, my mouth begins watering, I can almost taste the decedent carbs, the high sodium pepperoni, and the artery clogging cheese, I just might be in heaven at this moment. But the phone is ringing, six or seven times, what the f?oh, the Pizza Hut person answers the phone and asks if I would hold the line. I agree and she hangs up on me.
    Before you go and tell, I?m not saying the Pizza Hut person hung up on me on purpose. It happens, right?
    So I call 411 again and wait for the 411 computer to re-connect me. This time, after eight or nine rings, the Pizza Hut person answers the phone and asks if I could hold the line. Again I agree, I really want this thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. Pizza Hut person doesn?t hang up on me this time, but I?m waiting for over ten minutes. What the fuck?
    I hang up, and call 411 yet again. After the computer connects me, who knows how much this is going to cost me but I don?t think about that, the phone rings. Five times, no answer, ten times, no answer, fifteen times, still no answer. I hang up the phone and throw it on my bed next to the forgotten quarter, which seems to be staring at me with teary eyes.
    I glance at my watch, it?s now almost thirty minutes since I decided to defy the power of the coin toss and call Pizza Hut. Suddenly this stupid song from T.A.T.U, Thirty Minutes, starts running through my guilt ridden mind. Especially the part in the song that goes like:
    In the moment it takes
    To make plans or mistakes
    Thirty minutes, a blink of an eye
    Thirty minutes, to alter our lives
    Thirty minutes, to make up our mind
    Thirty minutes, to finally decide
    I shudder and look at the coin lying next to my phone. I nod, silently admitting defeat. I shove my feet into a pair of sandals and head out the door, resigned that I will be consuming Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant for lunch.
    As I?m driving the two or so miles to my favorite restaurant, that damn song keeps playing in my head, like it?s now become my theme song. (I don?t even like the song, but while surfing around Utube earlier that day, I heard it and now it?s stuck in my head, playing over and over again.)
    Lunch for normal people is long over by the time I arrive at my favorite restaurant, and for a moment, I resent the fact that I can no longer order the lunch special combo deal thingy they offer. But I shake that feeling off; it?s my favorite place after all. I?ll just order the entr?e size and pig out.
    While parking, I can?t decide what delicious food substance I wanted to shovel into my body.
    Thirty minutes, a blink of an eye
    Thirty minutes, to alter our lives
    ?Shut up!? I scream in the confines of my crowded mind before walking into my favorite restaurant. The last thing I want inside my head is two Russian lesbians singing emotional drivel as I eat.
    As I feared, the restaurant is empty?well?almost empty. The moment I opened the door, I saw the hottest guy I?ve seen in months, with or without clothes. Oh my pancreas, if Bill Gates and Cindy Crawford would ever procreate, they could never produce a hotter nerd then I saw standing before me waiting on a To Go order. Damn, his ass was so hot it was a shame he had to sit on it.
    He was tall, just a few inches taller than me. Slim, border lined skinny with untamed dark hair and glasses. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of black rimmed glasses. Can I say yum? Fucking right I can say yum.
    He was wearing a Face Book T-shirt, faded blue jeans that hung a bit low on his narrow hips, sandals, and the best part, a rainbow bracelet adorned his right wrist. A fucking hot nerd, great taste in Chinese Food, and gay. Heaven!
    I quickly checked myself, mentally of course, making sure my shirt was stain free, (not that kind of stains you pervert) and that my hair was perfect, carefully arranged to resemble a tumbled mess. Don?t worry, it was, I was out in public for Christ?s sake.
    That?s when I realized what T-shirt I was wearing. For those of you that are curious, it?s a green T-shirt with rainbow lettering that reads, I like Geeks. ?At least he would know I was available.? I thought.
    Daniel and I frequent this restaurant, so the guy behind the counter gave me a big smile and immediately asks about the whereabouts of Daniel. I reply that he?s hanging out at home, (I don?t think I could explain the concept of Daniel and I to this guy, he barely speaks English as it is and has always believed Daniel and I were a couple.) and that it was just me today.
    This hot nerd, like anyone would do, looks over at me while the guy and I exchange brief pleasantries. I see him read my shirt, then I see him give me the once over. I smile, and check him out too. I look back up to his face roughly around the same time his eyes reaches my face, our eyes meet, we both smile.
    Long forgotten is the guy behind the counter, the hot nerd takes a half-step towards me and says, ?Hi.?
    ?Hello.?
    ?Nice shirt.? He says, a smile on the edge of his mouth.
    ?Thanks.?
    I won?t bore you (anymore) with the rest of the conversation; needless to say I now have a date with him Monday night. We?re going out for Sushi and Sake in the city. And I can?t wait, his name is Konstantin (probably spelled wrong) and he?s twenty-six. He works as a troubleshooter for Face Book. Yummy, think I will.
    Without digressing further, I?ll sum up this post.
    All day, I couldn?t decide what to eat for lunch. I waited, thought, sought advice, and ended up giving the decision over to fate IE: the coin toss. But because of a TV commercial, I almost missed out on this most fortuitous encounter with hot nerd guy. This is the proof that I promised to offer that commercials might be the reason I?m alone. Thus the founding of my new movement aimed at the destruction of all commercials on TV.
    Though I?m sure some of you might argue that if I didn?t see that commercial on TV, then I would have went to my favorite restaurant thirty minutes earlier, thus missing the fortuitous encounter with hot nerd guy.
    But we all know that?s bullshit. Don?t we?
    Jason R.
  16. Jason Rimbaud
    So something happened to me over the last weekend that I've been debating on whether or not I would share with those of you that read this Blog. And it's not because I think the events that transpired that lonely Friday night is of a personal nature and I'm unwilling to share it here to those that read my Blog on the daily.
    Because I think you know that I've been nothing but brutally honest in these entries over the last few years. Whether I'm writing about my past drug addictions, my straight-boy crush Mark and our adventures, or the stupid shit that happens in my daily life, I never once second guessed or deleted a single Blog entry I've written.
    Not to say that I'm proud of each and every entry that made it online in this Blog and the other one over at Awesome Dude. There are more than a few that never should've been posted in the first place. But that's the beauty of Blogging, being raw and uncensored.
    And yes that was a dig at Julien, maybe I want to read your Blog entries more than once, I love reading old Blog entries and the comments.
    But let's move on, and I still love you Julien. *smooches*
    But when I decided to begin this journey of online Blogging, I created a personal standard, a guideline of do's and don'ts that I swore to strictly follow. I promised myself that I would always write candidly and without fear, no matter the subject. And that I would never censor my words no matter the personal cost. And looking back over the last few years, I think I've kept that promise.
    So why would I hesitate about sharing this particular event if I swore to always be honest in my Blog?
    Well, I never swore that I would share everything that happened in my life, I only swore to always tell the truth when I did Blog. After all, no one person's life is so interesting enough to disclose each and every event that happens.
    Can you imagine trying to read a Blog where the author described in great detail each and every little boring thing that happened to him on a given day? After a few entries, you?d find something else to read, if you just didn?t put a gun to your head to stop the boredom.
    It?s the Blogger?s duty to only present the interesting moments and to keep the boring shit safely locked away far from the reader?s eyes.
    So I was talking about last weekend night?or to be more accurate I was talking about thinking about telling you about what happened last weekend. But before that?
    Most of you know that my parents threw me from their house after my father caught me in a compromising position with an older boy when I was sixteen years old. Most of you know that my father died shortly afterwards and that was the last time I ever spoke to my father.
    My relationship with my mother is nonexistent. The last time I saw the breathing cunt that gave me birth was the day she tried to trick/force me to enter Desert Stream Ministries (I think that is the name), a place that specializes in the re-education of homosexuals. That was the day when I stopped hoping that my mother would one day come to accept my sexuality.
    That day, I remember looking into her eyes and I realized that I saw nothing but hatred, disgust. And I saw the blame. I think she blamed me for the heart attach my father head a few short months after he found out his son was a no good rotten cocksucker.
    That was the day I kicked her out of my life. And believe me when I say, I will die a happy man if I never speak to her again for the rest of my life.
    I wouldn?t go as far as to say that my sexuality is necessarily the fault of my parents, or that they somehow conceived a defected child. But I will go on record saying that they did nothing to curb my natural behavior. And in a way, a very big life changing kind of way, they contributed greatly to my innate desire to be in close proximity with other boys.
    ?Oh really?? you might have voiced this question or a different question that is somewhat similar to the one I offer here, upon first reading the above statement, at this particular time, while reading this particular paragraph, of this particular Blog entry. Or you might ask, ?How could a set of parents, so righteous and so in tune with the almighty god ever contribute to a son of theirs being a faggot??
    I?m glad you asked one of these two questions, it will make the rest of this entry more interesting. For those of you that didn?t ask that question, please feel free to exit?now.
    Beware, the worlds longest sentence is coming up.
    When you isolate twenty to thirty, thirteen year old boys, in a camp far away from all contact with the female type species, especially at the time when those boys are just discovering that the thing between their legs has a more important function that releasing bodily waste, only an idiot would be surprised that the boys, or at least a few of those boys, would find an alternative method to release and explore the pent up sexual energy that Mother Nature has so thoughtfully imprinted in our DNA.
    This is a fact. I?ve seen it proved too many times over the years. Hell, I?ve proved it too many times over the years. Don?t believe me, put three, twelve to fourteen year old boys in a room for three days and leave them to their own devices and see what happens. At least two out of the three boys will experiment, sexually, with one another.
    Because all humans have one thing in common, deep inside our genetic make-up, we are hardwired to ensure the continuation of the human species. And if you take that away, we will still try to fulfill that need.
    Sex is something that most American?s shy away from. I think in part because of our ancestor?s fear of women being accepted as an equal. And in part because a majority of American?s believes that sex is a gift of God that is only supposed to be used for procreation. Any other reason that brings you to orgasm is in direct violation of the Bible and therefore deemed to be an abomination.
    This is completely and hysterically fucking funny to me. We all know, just by reading the papers, the religious right are known to have the kinkiest sexual habits of them all. Of course, the bathroom trysts aside, they justify this behavior by decreeing that if these deviant acts are between a husband and a wife then all is fine and perfect. Just don?t let those same acts happen between two people who are unmarried, or ever worse, of the same sex. Because then it?s an abomination unto God and the evildoers should be put to death. Apparently, in the Christian Bible, only a male and a female are allowed to fall in love.
    Why do we know this to be a fact? Because some asshole who lived in the dessert three thousand years ago claimed he was a messenger of God and said so. That?s it. No facts to validate his claim. Apparently, if you live in the dessert for a few years with nothing to eat or drink, except what birds happen to regurgitate in your mouth, then everything you say must be directly from the mouth of God. Who, by the way, hates faggots for some unknown reason. And if there was a reason, he decided not to explain it to the world. He just hates faggots?because.
    Get this, two guys fucking is such a sin that it ranks up there with anyone who eats shellfish. I know, that?s pretty fucking bad. I don?t know why, and I bet your local minister can?t explain it rationally either. And I also bet everything I own, that your minister eats every kind of shellfish even as he denounces homosexuality. The two laws are in the same book, and I think in the same chapter. But shellfish are good so we?ll throw out that law but two guys fucking gives me the creeps so we?ll keep that in.
    It never ceases to amaze me, how any religious fanatic/fuck can pick and choose seemingly at will, which parts of the Holy Book he follows blindly and which parts he?ll casually dismiss.
    If you take even a part of the book as truth, then you must take it all for truth. Once something is an abomination, it?s an abomination forever. And that?s a long fucking time. Just because the custom of the land has changed, and shellfish is no longer deemed unclean by the masses, which is why the early Jew?s were not allowed to eat shellfish and pork in the first place, that doesn?t mean that God?s law has changed.
    It doesn?t matter what man might twist or interpret the words to say, God?s law never changes. It says so in the book, a cannon that was published by a panel of Christians who were ordered by an emperor to create a standardize belief system that could be implemented by physical force on the entire empire. Or to be more realistic, the entire known world at the time.
    Fuck you, it?s your religion, I?m just quoting from the book you decided to live your life by. If you have a problem with what I?m saying/writing, take it up with your god. These are his fictitious words, not mine.
    Whoa, fuck me backwards Batman, I seemed to have digressed into a rant about religion. This is just a habit I frequently do while writing these Blog entries as you who read my Blog well know. And I am tempted to delete every paragraph that doesn?t pertain to the original topic?but.
    I won?t, because believe it or not, life on this planet will not go forward until this delusional belief in an imaginary figure in the sky disappears forever. This goes for Christians, Muslims, Hindu?s, Jew?s, Buddhists, and any other fly by night religion. Notice I didn?t include Scientology, because let?s face it, those fuckers are insane. Even the Buddhists take a step back and say, fuck.
    So I can still choose which parts of my life to share online and which parts to keep private, how do I decide what to share and what not to share? I think for one?s own sanity, the author and the reader, there are certain things that should remain private and things that should be offered up for anyone to experience.
    And that is why I?m currently struggling inside even as I write this sentence. I don?t know if I should continue this line of thought and let my emotions take me where they may or stop typing and go back to work?
  17. Jason Rimbaud
    Little White Pill
    Life has been really good lately. The problems I've had with my eyes have healed up nicely. I've been eating healthier and not drinking so much. I've been getting seven to eight hours of sleep each night. And the dark circles under my eyes, which I thought would never go away, have cleared up as well.
    My job is moving along at the speed of light. Money is pouring in, enough to decorate my new apartment, I even have pictures hanging on the walls. And no, not a single one is a naked guy. It looks and feels like home. And believe me, it's been too many years since I have a place to call home. So life has been really good lately.
    Recently I had the opportunity to purchase a new computer, so for the last month or so I've been slowly going through all my old files, deciding which ones I want to continue working on, and those that should stay in computer purgatory. And a few days ago, I found this piece and it disturbed me on so many levels. So I figured I would post it on my blog.
    Little White Pill
    By: Jason R.
    Little white pills I wish I never found you
    Complete emptiness as the addiction grew
    No matter the cost I?d gladly pay
    It?s not up to you or what others say
    Consuming all of the trends
    Forcing me to pretend
    That I wasn?t in league
    Through lies and intrigue
    I pushed it down into places
    Only showing you painted faces
    And now the moment is here
    I?ll slide away all the fear
    I choose pills over the gun
    Maybe life isn?t for everyone
    Written Monday, July 24th, 2006
    7:25 PM
    I noticed that this piece was written almost a year ago, and for a moment I struggled to remember why I first wrote it. I mean, what could I have been feeling during this time? What broken emotion could I have been entertaining to have the "given up" attitude to write something like this? Upon first reading, I wondered, if at one time, Last year, could I have been suicidal? And if yes, Why?
    If you have ever read my blog, my poetry, then you might have an idea that drugs have always played a part in my life. There was a time when between the booze and the cocaine, I'd take ecstasy to level off. Believe me, there have been too many Sundays spent "rolling face" in bed with some random stranger after a weekend of vodka and coke. Sadly, this was my life for many years.
    And though I gave up the cocaine years ago, and my drinking is nothing like I once indulged, and though I only "roll" occasionally, I believed I was doing pretty good. After all, all the hard drugs were long forgotten. Yet I had another vice waiting in the wings. Vicadin. Wow, cocaine was nothing next to this pain killer.
    I guess I never really liked sobriety, and with Vicadin you get a feeling of numbness without the guilt you'd get from a drug like heroin or cocaine. Last year at this time, I was up to eating nine or ten Vicadin's a day. Sometimes more depending on my state of mind. And I had convinced myself that it was harmless, after all, it was only a pain killer. Right?
    So addicted I had become, that the days I ran out of pills, I would start shaking and vomiting. I won't even get into my mood swings. During this time, I dropped a lot of weight. (For all you chunky guys out there, want a sure fire way to lose weight, get yourself a drug habit. The pounds seem to melt off. Though the down side is you lose all your friends so no one is around to say how gaunt you look. Everything it seems has a trade off.)
    Believe it or not, Vicadin is not an easy drug to come by. And when my supply ran out, I slowly began looking around for other substances to achieve my altered state of reality, to stop feeling. This quest led me to Crystal Meth. And just like years ago, once again my life became ruled by rails of white. And somehow, this high wasn't enough, so when I could get Vicadin's, I would smashed them up, mix them with Crystal, and snorted the whole mess together. Quite surprisingly, this is the time I started cruising heavily in San Francisco. I mean, Meth kept me horny for days at a time. And when I went cruising, it was nothing for me to have fifteen or sixteen cocks in my mouth in a single night.
    And for a time, this behavior was standard operating procedure for me. The biggest problem with Meth, it makes you feel like you are in control. Take away the powder, and life seemed out of control. So when Daniel began cautioning me about this behavior, I denied it, I pushed him away and almost lost the best thing that ever happened to me.
    But even though my life was spiraling out of control, Meth made my creativity explode. And with drug induced clarity, I began writing poetry with a passion. Nothing was off limits, I delved into the darkest places in my soul, and wrote about it with an honesty that I never had before. And like a wounded soldier, I tore off the bandages and let the wounds bleed for the world to see. And if you go back, in the poetry section, you can see the mistakes of my past jump out in vivid script.
    In this out of control lifestyle, the drugs somehow caused me to examine my past through my poetry, and pushed me to realize what I was doing with my future. In the last great Vicadin/Meth binges, I wrote the above piece in complete despair. It wasn't long after this piece, that through Daniel I did achieve a measure of sobriety. He urged me to go to "Susan" and seek help. Shortly after that, I started writing this blog. I found sharing stories of my life with perfect strangers helped me close one chapter of my life while starting a new one.
    I really wanted to share this piece here, yet I wanted to make sure those of you who care, understand why i wrote this piece and know I do not feel this way anymore. So to those of you that read my blog, those of you that take the time to post a comment, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Until the next time.
    Jason R.
  18. Jason Rimbaud

    Um, Hi!

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    So, how's it going? Naw, that's stupid. After all, I haven't done anything in this Blog for forever and that's the weakest opening ever.
    Over the last few days, I've been re-reading all these entries and I've come up with better sentences on all of them. So I must come up with something better than, how's it going? I had thought about explaining why I haven't posted anything in forever, but that seems like a cope out and probably no one cares. I also thought about doing some chit and some chat about my life the last few months. But for the life of me, nothing exciting stands out. I get up at 9am, I go to work. I get home around midnight and go to bed. Repeat forever. So that would be boring.
    Maybe I should start this Blog exactly where I left off all those forever moments ago. But then all you'd have to read about is what I wrote in the above sentence.
    Fuck it.
    I'm single, so I have no exciting stories to relate about dirty sheets and closet dwelling twinks.
    I'm a bit balder now, but really, it's not like I can hide it anymore.
    I'm still drug free, but really, did anyone ever truly doubt that?
    I lurk around at Awesome Dude, and can't find anything witty to say, not surprising.
    I read a few of the new flash fictions, commented when they struck a cord, but mostly I remained silent.
    Which is quite disturbing in a way, considering Awesome Dude was and still is my first home. It's where I started Blogging, it's where most of you got to know me through my rambling and continuous digressions. But for a long time, I felt like this Blog was part of the past. It chronicled things in my life that I didn't want to think about anymore. Things that I felt would only drag me down if I continued to let them fester. Hell, this is the place where I left Mark, and good riddance by the way.
    But lately, I felt like I had abandoned a part of me that could be used for my future self.
    I don't know, maybe I'm just lazy and have been focusing on myself and my offline life too much to offer up things here. But then I read something that Cole posted to one of my comments in Flash Fiction, and it got me thinking. A Blog isn't something that chronicles just the past, it's about the now, what's going on right now and who's playing a part in my continuous evolution as a human. I don't think it's fair of me to view these pages as a past I would rather forget. I think I should use these pages as a future I would like to share.
    I won't make promises that I'll do better in the future, I won't say that I'll never take a break from this Blog, because that would be just another bullshit statement to make everyone else feel better. And this Blog has never been about making other's feel better, though after reading some of the things I wrote, I think it made lots of people feel better, if nothing but to show that someone else is a bit dumber.
    So Hi Ho and away we go...again.
    Jason
  19. Jason Rimbaud
    I'm not usually one to listen to country music. But earlier today I was surfing through the channels and happen to land on CMT right when the new Garth Brooks video started to play.
    And WOW, it blew me away. The video is absolutely amazing. And might I even go as far as saying that Garth is a bit sexy as well. The name of the song is "More than a Memory". If you get a chance to listen to the song or even better yet to watch the video, you'll see what I mean. Very good.
    Jason R.
  20. Jason Rimbaud

    My Resurrection

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    My Resurrection
    A few weeks ago I headed off to the beach for a few days, probably the best idea I?ve had in recent memory. Anyone reading my blog has seen witness of my bouts of depression, my slow recovery from addiction, and the added stress of continuing my therapy with Susan. To say I needed some time away from the chaos of my life to clear the darkness from my soul would be a severe understatement.
    Basically I?ve been feeling like a caged animal, trapped inside myself and slowly going insane in plain view of those that really didn?t give a shit on ?whether I lived or died?. For a time, it seemed to me that as long as I showed up for work and did my job; the people around me were satisfied. It didn?t really matter that I was depressed and anti-social. I smiled at the appropriate time and made the restaurant guests feel welcomed. All other behavior was overlooked.
    I couldn?t then, nor could I now, put the proper descriptive definition on the feelings roaming around my head. And yet, maybe instinctively, I knew if I couldn?t tame the animal that was lurking under the surface of my sobriety, then I would lose the better parts of myself to addiction and sink back into depression.
    And this scared the shit out of me. Because maybe this time, I wouldn?t be able to escape.
    And the fucked up thing about this is it wasn?t until I got away from the noise of my job, the voices of my co-workers, and the deadening silence of my apartment, that I realized just how close I was to the edge. And how drained I truly became by the events of the last few months.
    I found it to be rather easy to ignore the shambles of my life when I was busy dealing with the hundreds of problems that crop up on a day to day basis of working in a hip, up-scale restaurant.
    I could either focus all my energy on the problems of the restaurant, problems I knew could be solved rather quickly, OR, I could waste what little energy I had left and spend hours self analyzing and attempting to tackle the large problems that persisted in my life. What would you do? Yeah, that?s right my friends. I?d thought you say that.
    BEWARE DIGRESSION ALERT
    I think this is probably the deciding factor on why there are just so many workaholics in the world. Maybe I?m not the only one that has discovered this coping mechanism that seems hardwired into our primitive minds. Survival at any cost.
    And while this is something we should all think about, this is not the where nor is this the when to chew the fat and make left-handed supposes on the growing trend of workaholics the world over. So I?ll return you to your regularly scheduled rant.
    END DIGRESSION
    I didn?t do much that Friday I arrived at the beach; I was so mentally and emotionally frazzled I spent most of the whole afternoon on the front porch watching the rain fall into the ocean and losing myself in my I-Pod.
    And as I sat there, the music playing randomly in my ears, my mind started drifting around to long forgotten memories. Poking around into places that I thought we had previously agreed, my mind and I, to leave forgotten and buried forever.
    And as I sifted through the past, I slowly began to realize that I hadn?t been happy in a very long time. This is not to say that I didn?t experience happy moments, let?s face it, over the years I?ve had lots and lots of happy moments. You can?t be a drug addict with a constant hard-on and not have some happy moments. But I recognized and more importantly, understood the difference between ?happy moments? and a genuine feeling of happiness.
    The longer I pondered this, the further back in time I delved. I knew, sometime when, there had to be a period in my life where I was truly happy. I wasn?t always an addict; I had lived for sixteen years before finding solace in the numbness of drugs. And I was determined to find that source of that happiness again.
    But the further back I went, the more I remembered, and the angrier I became.
    Before the age of sixteen I was pretty happy. I had loving parents, and even though they were religious bigots who brainwashed me into a life of fear and self-loathing, they were quite affectionate towards me and I loved them very much despite their beliefs.
    No matter what anyone might say, the ties between families are extremely powerful. Especially between a child and its mother. Think about it, for nine months, you are an extension of your mother. You experience all her emotions, happiness, sadness, the uncertainty of the future, and I bet in some respects you feel the pain and the ecstasy of birth itself. That kind of closeness creates a bond that nothing else you ever experience could ever compare.
    This bond begins as an unconditional love. It?s engrained into the human DNA; a mother?s instinct to protect its offspring. And even though my parents were strict and sometimes quite harsh, I knew/know that they loved me and only wanted the best for me. And as long as I followed the path they laid out for me, their love was unconditional.
    But much to my chagrin, one night I found out that their love had more than a few conditions attached too it. It seemed that the love they gave me hinged on the belief that I was a heterosexual. Because the night my father caught me in the living room giving an older boy a blowjob was the night I lost my home and my world. After that night, unconditional love took on a whole new meaning. Matter of fact, to be completely honest, from that moment on I have always put conditions on love. So you have to excuse me if the notion of unconditional love is a bit tough to swallow.
    Is it any wonder why I turned out the way I did? What was I supposed to do? I was sixteen, I had no money, no place to go, and my only possessions were the clothes on my back.
    I ended up sleeping in a bus station that first night, scared out of my mind and filled with an unholy rage. I was tossed aside for some obscure religious belief, and for a god that I had began to doubt even existed. Because if god did exist, and he really hated me because I liked other boys, than my unholy attraction to other boys was a gift I received from him.
    Read the fucking book, we were created in his image. And if you believe what my parents believe, then it is impossible for god to make mistakes. So?what the fuck was up with me? If it was truly wrong for me to be attracted to other boys, then god must?ve somehow fucked up when he made me in his image.
    BEWARE WORLD?S LONGEST SENTENCE BELOW
    Because, even before I became aware that there was a difference between girls and boys, and that other boys should only like girls, and that girls should only like boys, I was full-on, no denial, looking away wouldn?t change the fact no matter how often you arranged some ?alone time so the two can get to know each other? with the local girl, and forbid me to spend ?alone time? with my best friend, Sean, would I ever choose to hang out with a girl over the sheer pleasure of spending ?alone time? with a him.
    And it didn?t have to be my best friend, Sean, either, who at the time I was completely in love with but that?s definitely another story for another time. I have been that way since before I can remember. I would rather hang out with a boy than spend a moment with a girl. It was simple, plain and true; I was/am attracted to boys.
    I like the way they look, I love the way they feel, I go absolutely crazy by the way they smell. I was/is completely obsessed by just the physical sight of them. Clothed or not, the figure of a boy/man?s body drives me wild to this day. This is the only reality I ever knew, from my earliest memories all the way to the present day, it?s as natural as taking a breath. Did I make a choice? There has never been a choice for me to make. I?ve always liked boys, its simple genetics.
    ANTI-RELIGION RANT
    So when my parents, to be honest it was more my father than my mother at this time, threw me out of the house because I was gay, I immediately placed the blame on the god of my parents religion. After all, it was god?s bible after all, it was his words, and it was his hatred I felt. He was the root of my problem. He made all of humanity, and apparently he didn?t figure into account that some percentage of his creation might be attracted to a member of the same sex. And if he did take into account this ?phenomenon?, and still decreed that such love was an abomination, then I was the lowest form of scum on the planet. It didn?t matter to my parents that I was the scum that god created, because upon finding out I was gay, they had an instant hatred for me. And since god teaches that he destroys those he despised, my parents opted to destroy me. At that time, it didn?t matter if god created fags or not, because I was fucked. And by a god, that at that time, I loved almost whole heartedly. And people wonder why I?m an agnostic.
    END RANT
    In the morning, after I spend the night in a bas station, some guy told me about this shelter that allowed young runaways to stay there on the condition that they help out around the place and attend chapel services at the church that sponsored the shelter. Not having any other option available to me, I embraced this opportunity.
    Though I must admit it was rather difficult to go to the shelter. I had just been tossed out on my ass by my parents and their religion, the last thing I wanted to happen was to give someone else an excuse to exclude me based on something I couldn?t help or control. So upon arriving at the shelter, I kept my sexuality a secret and told several vague lies to disguise the real reason my parents gave me the boot. Though looking back now, I don?t think for a minute I fooled either the volunteers at the shelter or the minister about the real reason I ended up on their doorstep.
    I can also say, looking back, that they were a group of people who truly tried to help those that they came in contact with at the shelter. But at the time, I treated them like they were the enemy. Like they were a part of some grand conspiracy, plotting to destroy me and take advantage of na?ve fags the world over. I was/am forever bitter about religion and the people that believed in religion.
    There was another boy, around my age, who had been living at the shelter for a few months before I arrived. Though he never told me outright, I ?m pretty sure we had more in common than just needing a place to stay.
    It?s always been easy to spot the gay kids. They have an attitude, the way they carry themselves in a crowd that reminds you of a wounded animal quietly freaking out in a life and death kind of way that makes them easy to identify.
    And for whatever reason, most gay kids on the streets become predators as they get older. They find the weakest species on the block, some kid who might be new to the whole I don?t have a family so I now have to live on the street but I still don?t have a clue what the fuck life is about but I?ll trust you because I think you?re cute boy kind of kid, and take advantage of that innocent frame of mind and completely fuck them up.
    I think it might be Mother Nature?s way of coping with these situations that humans aren?t prepared to deal with. Of course it could be just a product of surroundings and circumstances that most youths find themselves facing after expulsion from their home. Much like the only way they know how to control a situation that is completely out of control. Or it could be a way to gain revenge, to make sure someone else?s life is as fucked up as their own.
    Anyway, most runaways/get the fuck out of my house, type kids becomes predators in one form or another. It?s like they become the embodiment of those that first drove them into exile in the first place. Food for thought, but still not the main reason I?m writing this tonight. If you?re still with me, I move on.
    Back to this other kid I met at the shelter, I?m sorry I don?t remember his name. On the second night after my arrival, after we washed and dried the dishes, and right before we were loaded on the bus to attend chapel services, shown me a little plastic baggie filled with white powder asked me if I wanted some insulation to get me through the mandatory chapel attendance. I didn?t know what he was referring too, because at this time, I really was, for all purposes, a complete innocent.
    Drugs were something that my father had warned me about since I was a young child. And looking back on all the things he filled my head with, the only good advice that mother fucker ever gave me was, don?t do drugs. But again, I digress.
    When he realized I didn?t understand, he started laughing at me.
    Now, I?ve been laughed with a lot over the years and I?ve been laughed at as well. This laughter was definitely one of those times when I was being ridiculed because of my naivet?. This was a feeling that I quickly found out I absolutely despised. And even to this day, I refuse to accept anyone laughing at me. I?ve gone to ridiculous lengths and have done some pretty dumb ass stupid shit to make sure that no one laughs at my expense ever again.
    Once regained control of his laughter, he pulled me into the shelter?s bathroom. This was a space that was accessible to anyone who wished to use it, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. So I?m sure you can imagine the smell of stale piss, fresh vomit, and un-flushed shit that permeated the small enclosure. This was the kind of place that even drug addicts would warn others about avoiding.
    Once inside the cesspool of a bathroom, he dragged me into one of the filthy stalls and locked the door behind us. He then pulled a plastic baggy from his pocket and held it up triumphantly, like I was suppose to know what was inside. To the white kid from suburbia, it looked like he crushed up a stick of white chalk. I know, I was pretty stupid back then.
    So I asked how a piece of chalk would insulate me from the attempted brainwashing we soon would be subjected too. And can you believe it, that bastard laughed at me again.
    Once he informed me of the true nature of the white substance nestled so innocently in that plastic bag, he laid out a choice for me.
    HIJIKED THREAD
    To be honest, the best way to get me to do anything; is to make it appear that I have the final say in the outcome of my actions, that I made the choice. It doesn?t really matter what the two choices are, if you pretend to give me an option of deciding my fate, then I will usually do what you wanted me to do in the first place. Just don?t ever tell me what to do, that?s a sure fire way to get me to dig my heels in and let my stubborn streak rear it?s ugly head. Just something for those to think about that might have ambitions of controlling my actions. I know I should delve deeper into this weakness but this is not the entry for discussing the inner workings of my mind and I?ve rambled on long enough already and still haven?t gotten around to explaining the reason I began writing this blog entry in the first place.
    RETURNING TO NORMAL BLOG ENTRY
    Okay, what was this choice he laid out in front of me?
    I could attend the chapel service and buy into the concept of an all-knowing, all-seeing, judgmental god that will hold me accountable for my every action with an unwavering solidarity to the rules as laid out in the Biblical text, OR, I could snort a few lines of cocaine and put my trust into the hands of fate and let chance decide the cards that would be dealt for me to play in this game called life.
    Fuck it, what can I say? He was cute. He was a dangerous boy that lived by a philosophy that went against every single thing I was ever taught by my parents. And for a moment, as brief as that moment was, I was scared that this cute boy would lead me directly to hell.
    But then I remembered my father, and the way he threw me aside for a god he?s never seen all because a man stood in front of a church and told him to hate people like me. At that moment, joining in something that might send me to hell was pretty damn tempting. If god hated me simply because I was gay, then I didn?t want to go to heaven anyway. That was the day, the very moment, I walked away from the religion I was raised to believe.
    And the more I thought about that first time doing drugs, the more bitterness I began to feel. The more anger that slowly started consuming me. I was a product of my past, I had lived a life that I never choose. It all began when my father turned his back on me.
    And there, sitting on the front porch of that beach house, I felt like no matter what I did, I could never escape the demons that haunted me. I?ve tried again and again to remain sober. I?ve spent countless hours and countless dollars trying to erase the depression that stalks me. And I?ve failed each and every time.
    There was no way a faggot like me could ever have a chance at living a normal life.
    I was filled with rage, bitterness, and an overwhelming desire to get as high as I could possibly get. I almost ran into the house, with the full intention of grabbing my shit and driving back to Redwood City where I knew I could score some pure coke. If I was going to be trapped in this shit, then I was going to be as numb as possible.
    But something happened as I stalked into the house. Up to that point, the music blasting in my ears was background noise. I had been sitting on that porch for three hours and I couldn?t tell you a single song that had played. Until that moment, then my mind focused on the song and I understood the words I heard.
    I had listened to that particular song probably fifty times over the course of this year. I liked the song, but I don?t think I really heard what the lyrics were really saying until that moment. The clarity that washed over me was staggering. And all the anger and bitterness that was so consuming a moment before melted away, slipping from me like a bad dream, fading into that part of my mind where all nightmares are banished.
    I spent the next hour walking along the beach, the rain pouring down on me, just letting the cleansing flood wash me clean. And as the sun set, as I peered into the fading light, I couldn?t help but think I was watching my past slip into oblivion.
    Because that?s all the past is, a string of events that happened. My past certainly shaped the man I am today, but it doesn?t dictate my future. The future is wide open, a new page that only I could write, but still a fresh parchment. I couldn?t control my past but I can control my future by changing my present.
    For the first time in my life, my past is just that, the past. To have a future I can?t dwell on those memories anymore. And so my present is looking pretty fucking bright.
    The last time I thought about using cocaine was that time at the beach. It?s almost like I put my addictions to rest that night. This might change in the future, but somehow I think my present doesn?t allow for those feelings to exist here. Either way, I feel like I have a real chance to become the man I see in my dreams. Cheers.
    Jason R.

  21. Jason Rimbaud

    New Years Eve & Blowjob Shots

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    The first time I had sex I was fifteen. He was an older boy and that bending over the couch resulted in me getting kicked out of my house. And since my parents took the extra step in declaring me a fag to the entire church, I was basically outed to my entire community.
    So for a few years, fifteen to eighteen, I did all the drugs, fucked all the boys/men as an out and somewhat proud gay boy. I couch hopped when I could, lied to use the shelters, or struggled living on the streets when necessary. Basically I tried to navigate my world as best as I could.
    Shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I met an older gentleman who convinced me to move to Harrisburg Pennsylvania by offering to co-sign for my very first studio apartment. He also helped me get a job at Giant Grocery Store by dragging me to the DMV to get my ID. So I slowly started to build a life for myself.   
    Though Harrisburg is the Capital of Pennsylvania, I saw first hand the homophobia that surrounded me so I took moving there as an opportunity to start over so to speak. To avoid being the gay boy that was bent over the couch I went back in the closet and nailed the door shut behind me. 
    Giant was where I began making friends that would carry me for the next ten years. The first person I met was another eighteen year old named Nelson but everyone called him Five as he was the fifth Nelson in his family. Five’s best friend, John, a dirty blond nerd that is probably the biggest geek I’ve ever met in my entire life.
    On my second day, I met Jason, who would quickly become my best friend and the bane of my existence as we both struggled through our sexuality for years before culminating where I was his best man when he married a girl named Christine. But that’s another story for a different when. 
    The four of us quickly became inseparable. We all worked at Giant, and spent almost every waking moment together for the next ten years. That entailed watching many movies, going to Denny’s at two am, and playing pool for hours at a time. We also hung out in the Giant parking lot after hours, throwing footballs, talking, and just enjoying each other's company. Then we discovered alcohol. 
    One of my earliest memories of Harrisburg was watching a KKK rally spew their hateful message to a large crowd of onlookers. This convinced me to make a nice comfortable home in my closet. From the ages of eighteen to twenty-one, I was a typical straight boy. I dated girls, had sex with them, and tried my hardest to fit into a world as something I wasn’t. 
    I could do all the things girls expected boys to do. I could go down on them, stick it inside them, make out with them, but I never really figured out what to do about the tits. Even to this day, tits are an enigma I believe should be better left alone. 
    For a while, I existed happily in my straight fantasy. For the first time in my life, I had a close group of friends that actually liked me. I was very popular with the girls, not really dating anyone longer than six months to ensure none of them discovered my secret. But deep down, I knew I was living a lie and over time, that began to take its toll on my already fragile mental state. 
    Then New Year’s Eve, 1996, twenty-six days before my twenty-first birthday, something happened that would change the direction of my life. It would be another three years before I came out to my entire circle of friends, but that was the day I stopped lying to myself. 
    Five had a friend from High School, her name was Anja and she was a first generation immigrant from Croatia. She was brunette with shoulder length hair, brown eyes, petite with little perky breasts. She was also very athletic in a feminine way.  
    While Five wasn’t interested in her in a romantic sense, he was borderline obsessed with destroying her relationship with her High School boyfriend so I could date her. Her boyfriend, Eric, was one of the hottest guys I had ever seen. He was six-foot tall, shaggy brown hair, lean but very fit with the most amazing brown eyes. He was also funny, and always quick to laugh and enjoy life. 
    Though Anja and Eric had been dating since tenth grade, there were always rumors swirling around that Eric would cheat on her during vacations and out of state trips. This drove Five crazy as he considered her a friend so he made it his mission to break them up so in his words, “She could date you and have a good boyfriend for a change”. 
    Little did he know, I wasn’t a good match for her either. But all that would come to a head anyway and there’s no reason to get ahead of myself.
    So for months, Five invited Anja to every party, every trip to Six Flags, every pool party, any event where the opportunity would present itself for me to make my move. Remember, she was still dating who she thought was the love of her life. I never said Five was smart. 
    Of course, Anja would always arrive with Eric in tow and over time, I got to be quite friendly with Eric. Not like my core group of friends, we never hung out alone, but when we did show up at the same place, more often than not, we would spend the rest of the time laughing and joking together. 
    This frustrated Five to no end. I was supposed to be “helping” him destroy this poor girl's relationship so I could swoop in and save her, and all I did was flirt with Eric. Though no one really saw what I was doing was flirting, but I know the truth. 
    Before we progress, a little backstory on my little group of friends. John was an only child to a well off middle class family. Jason was the youngest, at eighteen, his older sister was twenty-five and already married. His family was middle class wealthy as well. 
    I was definitely the poorest in my circle of friends. But they never made me feel like I was. They would subtly buy movie tickets for me, offer me gas money when I drove them anywhere, little things to let me contribute so I could feel like an equal. They paid for a lot of things and I am really grateful they did it with such class.
    Five was by far the richest in our group. He was an only child and born when his mother was forty-nine years old and his father was fifty-five. Neither of his parents had wanted kids but when he was a surprise, they loved him anyway. They were amazing parents. They were also loaded, worth millions of dollars and lived in Hershey Pennsylvania on top of a hill that looked down on the small city. 
    And yes, Five worked at a grocery store. Later he would build his career at Costco, ultimately becoming District Manager. For all the money he inherited at an early age, it never seemed to affect him. He made his own way in life and never relied on his family’s money. By thirty, he was a multi-millionaire and worked eighty hours a week at Costco. He’s a very interesting person. 
    His parents were also functioning alcoholics. By the time he was eighteen, they were long since retired and enjoying the fruits of their labor. And since they were notorious drinkers, Five had been drinking beer at dinner since he was sixteen. They also allowed him to throw house parties in High School as long as all the kids' parents knew there was drinking and no one drove home.
    This made Five’s parties legendary. 
    On this particular New Year’s Eve, Five’s parents had gone away somewhere for the Holidays so we had the entire house to ourselves. Five had invited about thirty or so friends/peers but as all parties tend to do, it ballooned to fifty by the time the ball dropped. 
    The music was pumping, the alcohol was flowing, people were making out, jock/bro’s were playing drinking games, it was turning out to be a great party. Until the incident. The incident happened shortly after midnight because Anja caught Eric kissing another girl.
    Full disclosure, Eric wasn’t making out with this girl, but they definitely kissed. This turned into a full blown fight because during the argument, Eric let slip he was transferring to Pittsburgh for the next semester to finish his studies. 
    Things turned ugly quickly, Eric told her she was being overly dramatic and she accused him of using the transfer as an excuse to end things. Turned out she was right. Eric wasn’t satisfied with the prospect of turning twenty-one only having dated one girl. And then it came out that he had in fact cheated on her over the summer when he was touring Pittsburgh campus. That’s when Anja slapped him and stormed out of the kitchen with Five closely behind. 
    As this argument was going on, I was outside on the balcony smoking and chatting up with a girl I had invited to the party. Sometime later, a very drunk Eric came stumbling out on the balcony for a cigarette. I clearly remember he was not that upset about the whole incident. Matter of fact, he almost looked relieved. 
    As we did every time we hung out, we started talking and joking around. Then Eric suggested we should do shots and things get really blurry for the next few hours. Because I woke up the next afternoon in my bed, naked, with a massive hangover and very little memory of what had transpired the night before.
    I had several missed calls from Five. Apparently I had left the party, the girl I brought that no one else knew, my shirt, and just disappeared without a trace. I didn’t return his call as I laid in bed trying to reason out the night's events. 
    Then a lump in my bed that I had mistakenly attributed as my throw pillows started to move. That was an interesting turn of events. Apparently I had ditched the girl I brought to the party but still found a replacement. Go me.
    I reached out and moved the covers down and saw a mop of shaggy brown hair. Oh fuck.
    Eric rolled over and peered up at me. It took him a moment to register who I was and then he stretched and said, “Morning.”
    I managed to say, “Morning” as I reached on the nightstand for my cigarettes. Then my heart sank as I saw a used condom on the floor next to my bed. Oh fuck.
    “What time is it?”
    I looked at the alarm clock as I lit my cigarette. “One-thirty.”
    “That’s not good.”
    “Really, it depends.”
    “On what?”
    “What time you had to be home today?”
    “Not until tomorrow.”
    I propped myself up against the headboard and put the ashtray on my stomach. “Then what’s not good about 1:30?”
    “I was supposed to meet a friend for lunch at noon.” Eric mimicked my leaning position against the headboard and asked, “Can I have one of those?”
    Like me, Eric was bare chested and from how the blanket fell against his hip, I could tell he was as naked as I. I gave him a cigarette and said, “I drank a lot last night, do you remember what happened?”
    He looked at me with a questioning look. “I never thought you’d be one of those guys.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “A guy that conveniently forgets what happened last night.”
    I leaned over the bed and picked up the used condom. I held it up and said, “I can only assume we had sex.”
    “Twice.”
    I dropped the condom on the floor and asked, “Is there at least another condom on your side of the floor?”
    Eric took a long drag and replied, “Yep.”
    “That’s good. At least we were safe.”
    “We both insisted on that.”
    “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m assuming I fucked you.”
    “You did. Right after I fucked you.”
    I hadn’t bottomed in over four years. I had been “straight” and too many questions were swirling around in my poor aching head. He seemed to be extremely comfortable waking up next to a boy. And I couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of weird joke.
    I threw my legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood up. Then I could tell that at least part of his story was true, my asshole ached. “I’m thirsty, want anything?”
    “Some water would be nice.”
    I made my way into the kitchen and poured two glasses of water. When I walked back into the bedroom, Eric was just hanging up his phone. He was still in my bed and looked like he had no plans on moving anytime soon. I held out one of the glasses and saw another part of his story was proving true. Right by my foot was a used condom. 
    I sat down and took a long drink. I said, “Eric, not that I’m upset or anything. But how did this happen?”
    “You mean us fucking last night.”
    “That. I really don’t remember much of anything after the ball dropped.”
    “We were doing shots in the kitchen, and someone dared you to do a blowjob shot.”
    “Fucking Jason.” I muttered. He was always bringing up blowjob shots and trying to force everyone to partake. “Was you the lucky constant?
    “Pretty much, in a manner of speaking.”
    It was a really stupid shot but he had roped me into doing it more times than I could ever admit. You put equal parts Amaretto and Bailey’s Irish Cream in a shot glass and then top it with whipped cream. A person sits in a chair and puts the shot between their legs. Then you get on your knees in front of them and then using only your mouth, grab the shot glass with your lips and tilt your head back to drink the shot. 
    “What does that mean?”
    “You were pretty drunk and you kept shoving your nose into my balls. It took quite a while for you to get the shot glass in your mouth.”
    “Great, so my head was between your legs in front of fifty kids.” I groaned out. 
    Pretty much.” Eric said as he leaned over my bed and put his cigarette out in the ashtray that was sitting on my nightstand. 
    As he stretched out, I got a good look at his ass. At least I had good drunken taste. 
    He caught me staring at his ass and smiled. “Later on, I teased you about the way you kept sniffing my balls while you were “pretending” to drink the shot.”
    “That’s mean.”
    “Then you whispered in my ear that if I ever wanted to experience the real thing, all I had to do was ask.”
    “So you decided to take advantage of my drunken ass.” I muttered as I ran my hands through my hair. 
    “All I did was ask a question.”
    I pulled back the covers and climbed in next to him. “So then it’s your fault we had sex last night.”
    “I wasn’t the one that was begging to be fucked last night.” Eric said with a grin. “Not at first. But after you seemed to enjoy it so much, I figured I should see what you were moaning about.”
    I moved down until my head was on the pillow, I put my hands over my head and said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t remember anything about last night.”
    Eric snuggled his head on my chest and said, “Don’t worry, you had fun.”
    “Apparently twice.”
    Eric, like me, had always known he was gay. At first he stayed with Anja so long because she was extremely religious and he figured it was a safe way to ensure no one suspected the truth. But they had dated so long, they eventually had sex. And he had been feeling exceedingly guilty for leading her on and the last few months, he had stopped the sex all together. 
    And it was true he had cheated on her over the summer. The part he left out was it was with a boy. After that experience, he figured the only way he could get out of his situation was to transfer and start over in a new city far away from the prying eyes of his friends and family.
    I dropped Eric off at home a few hours later and then went to Five’s house to do some much needed damage control. All my friends were worried that I had disappeared and once they realized I was fine, they really laid into me. I was a selfish bastard, I didn’t respect them, they said the most awful things. Their anger lasted until I decided it was time to play a drinking game around seven o-clock. It was just the four of us and their anger disappeared sometime after I made Jason do a blowjob shot. 
    No one ever found out the reason I left Five’s house that night. Eric went on to graduate from Pittsburgh and we never got together again. I saw him a few more times but by the time he came back, I was fully involved in the mess that was my relationship with Jason.  
    But that experience started me on the path to visiting my first gay bar twenty-six days later when I turned twenty-one. But that’s a story for another time.
  22. Jason Rimbaud
    Not sure if anyone knows, I'm sure no one cares, but I go to Las Vegas frequently. And yes I do gamble a bit, but the main reason I go is for the food and the shows. I love magic shows and have seen every show in vegas that has any magic whatsoever. Penn & Teller is one of my favorites and I have seen them over twenty times. Especially since their show Fool Us, as they add new material almost every show. Plus I listen to Penn's Sunday School Podcast which always makes me laugh.
    Earlier this year, I found out that Criss Angel is leaving the Luxor Casino after ten years. He's moving to Planet Hollywood where he first started with his 2005 TV show and rise to fame. Apparently its a whole new show, so I'm assuming all the music will be different.  Here is a song that he plays during some fun close up coin magic in his showl For some reason, I love this song.
  23. Jason Rimbaud
    A Christmas Song from Third Eye Blind
    I'm gonna stuff my present up your chimney
    And the melted snow will make it all wet
    Cuz it's gonna be one of those Christmas days
    We spend in bed
    I will be your little drummer boy
    I'll beat it til you feel no pain
    Cuz baby you're my Christmas joy
    When you're sucking on my candy cane
    It's gonna be one of those Christmas days
    We spend in bed
    Merry Christmas
  24. Jason Rimbaud
    Mistaken Identity and Two Rolls of Toilet Paper
    Current Music Selection: Snow Patrol?Eyes Open
    Current State: Buzzed
    Current Mood: Fulfilled
    So I stabbed my co-worker in the back with a fork tonight at work. I don?t think you can appreciate this statement. So I?ll Chris Nolan it, Memento style. We?ll go back in time so you can get the full impact of this statement.
    As some of you know, I work in a hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto California. Most of my co-workers are between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one. Almost all of us are males, and for the most part, we get along rather well.
    No matter how professional we are in the front of the house, the main room of the restaurant for those un-familiar, the back of the house, the kitchen area, is one rowdy and fun loving place. Here is where we make fun of the guests, catch up on the gossip of our co-workers, and mainly play practical jokes on everyone. Usually the games we play are divided between the servers and the kitchen staff.
    Mostly our games are harmless, high school games. Like the circle game. For those of you that haven?t heard of this game, I?ll explain. You bring your forefinger and thumb together to make an ?O?, and making sure the ?O? is below your waist, you try and trick the rest of the co-workers to look at the ?O?. If they look, you get to hit them in the arm. But there is a way out, if the person who is shown the ?O?, can without looking, takes his forefinger and breaks the ?O?, and then he gets to hit the person who flashed the ?O?. Usually we all go home with black and blue arms.
    Lately our games have been escalating to hit and run attacks of the left nipple. And yes, only the left nipple is targeted. This gives everyone a fighting chance, as we all have pockets over our left nipples and we can stick things inside to protect the rather sensitive nipple area. So of course we have to be rather creative to get a direct hit, but then we all are pretty creative.
    But none of these games were the cause of the above statement. I?m getting there, just like Memento; good things come to those who wait. Now, we have individual candles at each table to give off good ambience. At the beginning of the shift, we all have to light the hundred or so candles that litter our restaurant. One of my co-workers, after lighting thirty or so candles, walks over to me and complains that his lighter is really hot. I call him a pussy and to prove how hot the lighter is, he places the metal part, where the flame comes out, against my left forearm. I must admit, he was right. The lighter was very hot and it burned me.
    For some of you here on this site, you might not know that straight guys love hurting one another. And since I?m pretty straight acting, I think it?s kind of fun to inflict good natured harm to guys I like. Like I tell them all the time, we?re two steps away from one big gay orgy. That would inflict lots of harm mixed with pleasure but I?m getting off topic again. I stabbed my co-worker with a fork.
    So I scream out, stating the obvious that he burned me. Now, his best friend walks over to see why I screamed out like a girl. After relaying the story, and showing him the spot on my arm that is now a deep red and beginning to blister, that fucker uses his lighter and burns me again, a few inches above the first burn. So in pain, and with a vengeful nature, I flick both of their nipples, hard. So hard that I actually hurt my fingers. They scream out, complaining that the right nipple is off limits and that I cheated.
    So we stood there, the two of them rubbing their sore nipples and me blowing on my burnt skin. So loudly were we screaming, our General Manager came out of his office to see what the commotion was about. After telling him that I cheated by targeting the right nipple, a game he plays as well (we have a great boss) he looks at me and shakes his head, but then I showed him my arm. In his great wisdom, he allows the flick to go un-punished as they did burn me. I stick my tongue out at them, gloating. I know, real mature. But serving in a restaurant is a really stressful job and we need all the distractions to help us get through the night.
    Now remember, we haven?t even opened for business yet and already I have two co-workers declaring they will get me back for my unlawful nipple attack. I walk away, confident that I?ll survive whatever the two come up with.
    Remember, I?m a man of routine. We open at 5:30, at 5:15 everyday I go outside to get one last cigarette down before the hell begins. After I finish smoking, I go to the bathroom, relieve myself and wash the cigarette smell from my hands.
    They see me go outside, ten minutes later, they watch me walk into the bathroom. I enter one of the stalls and proceed with my business. I hear the door open and someone walk into one of the stalls. I think nothing of this; it?s a public bathroom after all. About a minute later, I hear the door open again. I hear them speaking, it?s the two that have sworn to get me back. They walk into the two remaining stalls. I hear a banging noise, and a few seconds later, one calls out to the other, asking if he?s ready. The other replies yes, and then I hear two loud bangs and then a splash, then a muffled yell, followed immediately by a very deep voice saying this, and I quote, ?I?m not who you think I am.? They had decided to grab two rolls of toilet paper and chuck them over the stall walls. What they didn?t know, they had chosen the wrong stall. It seems our delivery driver had needed to take a shit after giving us our beer. One of the toilet paper rolls hit him in the head while the other fell right between his legs and into the bowl.
    Needless to say, both of them bolted out of the bathroom like two scared rabbits while I started laughing. What made it even more comical, was after they left, the driver continued to curse and yell about the incident. I calmly washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom to find both of them, hiding in the office with scared looks on their faces.
    I shake my head, and then tell every person working what had just happened. To say they were mad about the nipple flick was an understatement now. They both swore they would get me before the night was over. And for the rest of the night, periodically one of us would look at the two of them and say, "I'm not who you think I am."
    Shortly after that, we opened the door and had one of the busiest nights in our history. And through the night, though we help each other out, every free moment is spent flicking nipples, pushing, punching, and generally having one hell of a time trying to out do one another.
    Now, wait for it, here comes the reason I?m writing this entry. At the very end of the shift, the one that burned me first, comes at me with a pen in his hand and acts like he?s going to stab me in the nipple with it. My reflex is to stop this from happening so I stick out my right hand. At that moment, the second one that burned me chose this moment to push the other guy hard from behind, sending him crashing into me. Needless to say, I get stabbed in the hand with a pen, deep enough to draw blood. I react without thinking, I pick up the first thing I could, which happened to be a dirty fork from one of the plates. I looked at the one who stabbed me, he protests, saying he was pushed and that he really wasn?t going to stab me. I shake my head and he starts to run. I chase him out of the kitchen and down the hall to the back door, where I catch him and in a moment of stupidity, I stab him in the back with a fork. He screams out, I push him outside, and slammed the door. Everyone, including the General Manager is standing there laughing as he bangs on the door. Yelling that I tried to kill him with a dirty fork and that he?ll probably get some crazy disease.
    After work, I buy a six-pack of beer and in the parking lot, we all drink beer together and laugh over the days events. Speculating on what the next day we?ll bring and what kind of adventures we?ll have together in this hip upscale restaurant in Palo Alto.
  25. Jason Rimbaud

    A Poem from my Youth

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    So I was going through some of my stuff and found several old notebooks that were filled with
    my earliest writings. After laughing for over an hour, I realize that though I am no where near
    a great writer, I am a million miles away from the geeky four-eyed boy that filled those notebooks
    with high hopes of becoming the greatest writer the world has ever seen.
    While most of the things I hope will never be seen by anyone, but I have decided to post a piece that brings
    back great memories of my youth. So, here is something that might brighten up your day.
    That Smokey Bar
    By: Jason R.
    Standing all alone in that smokey bar
    The way you?re drinking you shouldn?t drive a car
    I asked where you lived and you said it wasn?t far
    So we left that smokey bar
    You and I in my car
    To your place that wasn?t far
    We got to your door
    You fell on the floor
    You asked for a drink and I asked, ?More??
    So I shut the door
    Picked you up off the floor
    And tried to stop you from drinking more
    You walked upstairs with sex on your mind
    I didn?t really want you and I to grind
    You smiled and said I was in a bind
    So I went with your mind
    Decided to do the grind
    And I awoke in a bind
    You didn?t remember that smokey bar
    You wondered where you left your car
    I assured you it wasn?t far
    So we went back to that bar
    You and I in my car
    And I was lucky it wasn?t far
    Written April 5th, 1995
    I hope you've enjoyed this horrible piece of poetry. Cheers until next we meet.
    Jason R.

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